


When the Wolfbane Blooms

by Acantha_Echo



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Sweetheart, Arranged Marriage, Blood and Violence, Deceit is a bad guy in this, Due to positions of power, Forced Marriage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Logan is waiting for the twist in the tale, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Near Death, Past Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit Sanders - Freeform, Patton is the best dad of all, Remy makes mistakes, Roman and Logan are reading completely different books when it comes to their relationship, Roman is extra, Slow Burn, They are confused, Virgil is having a very bad day, Werewolves, everyone is confused, tags updated as i go, we will get there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2019-09-22 12:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17059964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acantha_Echo/pseuds/Acantha_Echo
Summary: In retrospect, Virgil supposed the only surprising thing about being tied up in the woods and left to die by his village was that it hadn’t happened sooner.Chosen as the sacrifice to the monsters in the woods, Virgil expects to be torn limb from limb by some savage creature intent on eating his heart. Or dragged deeper into the trees to be part of some horrible ritual. Maybe even kept as some kind of pet or living trophy - after all nobody knows what happens to the sacrifices, only that they are never seen again.The beasts that lurk within are not what he expects however and soon Virgil finds himself in a desperate battle to protect his new found family against the growing anger of the villages around the forest, while trying to understand what has happened to him, his attraction to the mysterious leader of the group, and making sure Roman and Logan stop wasting time and finally admit their feelings for each other.Can he save them or will he realise too late the real truth - that humans can be the worst monsters of all.





	1. Winning the Lottery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flooftheriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flooftheriver/gifts).



> Hello! Those of you that follow me on Tumblr probably know of my deep and abiding love for Remy. While Roman/Virgil is my OTP, I also have a weakness for Remy/Virgil, a love that is shared with my dear, dear friend **Flooftheriver** (seriously, check out her work, it's so good!) Anyway, as it is her birthday today, I thought I would start posting and sharing this, a Remy/Virgil and Roman/Logan supernatural story. I don’t have a fixed schedule for updating this, it will come when it comes. I really hope you stick with me and this new story as I have have a lot planned for it.
> 
> And as a warning, a version of Deceit does exist in this story, by the name of Dorian and he is a villain. There are references to a past Deceit/Virgil relationship although it never progressed past kisses and will not be touched on in any real romantic detail. There is dubious consent here due to positions of power - or lack of it - but I wanna stress again, there will be no rape, no force of that type at all, beyond the aforementioned kisses and some touches, at any point in this story. It’s there for plot reasons and is important for the arranged marriage sub plot, but it is not an excuse to simply hurt Virgil. Not that I need one. 
> 
> Not to mention, happy birthday to one anxious boy! Love you Virgil.

** **

### Winning the Lottery

** **

_Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright_

_The Wolf Man (1941)_

In retrospect, Virgil supposed the only surprising thing about being tied up in the woods and left to die by his village was that it hadn’t happened sooner.

You didn’t go into the woods that boarded the north side of the village, not if you knew what was good for you. Things lived in the woods. Powerful, old things that the humans knew better that to engage with directly. Things they would fear, would invoke prayer and offerings to now and then in return for protection but you never entered the woods if you could help it. Somewhere along the way however, mere offerings of gold or food was no longer enough. The monsters that roamed under the cover of tree and branch demanded more and more until it was pushed to its logical conclusion - they wanted one of the villagers themselves. 

Every six years someone would be selected from the village, a sacrifice to appease the monsters that lurked beyond the controlled borders of stone and field. Neither age nor gender not power was protection against the decision, which was a group vote by the village elders, with every single member considered, including themselves or so they claimed. Sometimes they would hold a lottery so that it could be completely fair and open. 

Although he couldn’t help but notice that none of the richest families had ever been forced to give up one of their own. 

Virgil could still remember the shameful relief that had coursed through his body last time, when Bryce had been selected instead of him. The way every inch of him had slumped a little in relief as all of the tension had drained out of him knowing he wasn’t going to die today. He wasn’t the only one to relax, everyone in the circle had done the same, eyes averted from the scene as the boy was dragged away to his fate. Virgil had been fifteen at the time and like everyone else he hadn’t lifted a hand to try and save him, too relieved he got to live. 

He was twenty one when his village turned on him. The time had come to chose another to be left to the woods - another brave soul to save the rest of the village and their family from the horrible death that would no doubt befall them if they didn’t live up to their side of the bargain. 

When his name was called, Virgil didn’t even bother trying to run or make a scene. He didn’t ask for mercy or beg - nobody would help him, nobody would even look at him. He understood the role he was being made to play. He understood that it had nothing to do with votes or a random lottery or however they had decided to frame it - everyone who had ever been picked had been different in some way. Awkward, antisocial, lazy. Unwilling to follow the rules and roles set down by the leaders, they had always for some remarkable coincidence ended up being the ones tossed out to die. 

It was a good way to keep the rest in line but there would always be someone who slipped up, someone who tried to hold a little bit of individuality in a world that was determined to be a depressing shade of grey. This time it was Virgil. 

Everything felt cold as he was guided away from the crowds and into the barn where he would be kept until it was time for the ceremony. Not a word was exchanged between himself and the men who until mere hours ago had been people he had known and trusted, people he had exchanged conversation with, who had shared their own thoughts with him. Now he was nothing but a body to them, something that would keep them alive another six years but something they couldn’t even bare to look in the eye. 

They pushed him towards the back of the barn, to where a beam hung almost at head height. Rope was tied around his wrists and then looped up around the beam, trapping him in place. There was just enough give in the rope for him to stand there with his arms only slightly raised, but he couldn’t sit or relax. Not that Virgil thought he was going to be able to relax, not knowing that he had been tied up like cattle, waiting to be slaughtered. The comparison was just a little too close to home for Virgil to enjoy it and he could feel the fear start to build up in him now, the panic of the reality of the moment, his limbs buckling and struggling despite his original internal thoughts to stay calm, to not give them the satisfaction.

As if it mattered if they got to see him be scared, when he was going to die either way. 

“See you thirty six hours,” Jason, the head of the group gruffly told him, eyes always sliding off his face, unable to look at him even now. “It should give you enough time to make peace with yourself. Nothing and nobody will bother you, no food, no water, just you and your thoughts.”

They ignored his protests, his struggles against ropes that rubbed against skin, leaving red, angry marks in their wake but no matter how he struggled, the bounds remained tight. They were designed like that of course, Virgil giving a choked little noise that might have been amusement, once upon a time. It was tempting to scream. To yell himself hoarse but the barn was in the fields, far enough away that people were unlikely to hear anything that went on there. Not to mention, nobody would come to his aid. The whole village would know by now that Virgil was the chosen one this time. Virgil the screw up, Virgil the idiot, who had thrown away the chance of a lifetime because he had wanted more than a life chosen for him. Virgil who thought love was more important than duty or money. Virgil who had refused a man that anyone and everyone in the village would have given their right arm to have by their side. Virgil who had dared to want more than the life mapped out for him. 

Virgil who was always going to end up food for the beasts one day because he had never fit in. This was his reward for being different, for being unable to hide who he was, as he knew he should have done. Cynical of him no doubt, but he had always felt he had never belonged here and that sooner or later he would pay for having thoughts of his own. 

He had just hoped, foolishly it seemed, that he would get to live longer. He didn’t want to die, another choked sob rising up in him, Virgil closing his eyes as he leaned against his arm, unable to do anything but sway ever so gently. Trussed up like some meat on display, because the village couldn’t think of any other way to deal with whatever was in the woods other than mindlessly tossing their unwanted members out there.

Virgil had always wondered why they were chosen over a day before they were actually taken to the woods. Now he knew. To starve them and ensure they were already weak, that they wouldn’t be able to survive whatever horrors were waiting. It was typical of the villager elders that they would come up with something that on the face of it seemed like a mercy but was really cruelty in its purest form. To be given a little time to come to terms with the fate that was awaiting him seemed a good thing, to have that chance to say goodbye - except they didn’t give you anyone to say goodbye too. 

Instead, you were left completely alone. With just have his own racing thoughts to keep him company, and that would torture him better than any threats on their end could ever hope to do. It was the same with the lack of food and water, what reason could there be for that other than pain? 

As if he would have any chance against whatever actually roamed in the woods. Like everyone else in his village, Virgil only had the vaguest idea of what actually lurked beyond the houses and fields. His nightmares were filled with the possibilities of course. Shadowy monsters haunted his dreams, beasts with glowing eyes and never ending rows of teeth. They had claws that would rip through flesh and bone with ease, cracking into all the delicate parts of his insides. It would be painful and bloody but at least it would be swift.

Unless the demons in the dark were the sort who liked to play with their food. Virgil swallowed heavily as the thought intruded into his mind, pushing itself in and refusing to be shaken free. There was never any reportable trace of those left to die in the woods - and that raised more, frightening possibility. Of either monsters that dragged them away to be devoured and tormented later, or grisly remains _had_ been discovered and the elders were keeping them hidden so as not to alarm the people. 

Like they weren’t already so terrified by the thought of lumbering monsters watching them with hungry eyes. 

Sometimes though, he liked to imagine that he was wrong, that his own thoughts were nothing more than his own brain punishing himself for all manner of untold crimes. Sometimes, in the past, Virgil would sit on a haybale and stare out at the trees and think thoughts other than violence and fear. He liked to think that whatever lived in the woods was not evil. Just... different. Different was dangerous, different was to stand out, to be noticed, mocked. Different was what had got Virgil into this and while he knew he was different, he liked to hope he wasn’t bad, wasn’t evil. Just. Different. 

At least he was going to find out, one way or another. A shame he would never be able to tell anyone.

Leaving him alone with his thoughts had to be the cruelest part of this whole ordeal - baring the actual horrible death that was almost certainly still waiting for him of course and as much as Virgil wanted to cling to the possibility that they might not be evil, he could not bring himself to actually believe it. Nobody who demanded tribute in any form, let alone that of people could be considered good. Even if by some amazing stroke of fate they didn’t kill their victims, they still took them away from their families, their homes and everything they had ever known. While Virgil didn’t feel as though he wanted to stay here anymore, that didn’t mean he wanted to be killed. There didn’t seem to be any other choice. There had never been a choice and he had been a fool for tricking himself into believing otherwise.

All he could think about was his darkest thoughts, the darkest possibilities about what was going to happen to him now. Bad, bad, or worse. It was as though his brain was competing with itself, trying to come up with the most horrifying idea possible and then instantly attempting to top it. What had started of fear of being eaten alive had quickly grown to a fear of being slowly eaten alive. Then that had grown to having part of him eaten, before being dragged off and kept for several days while the monster made the most of its treat. 

Virgil wondered how much it would hurt. How long he would be aware for, until blood loss or some other factor mercifully put him out of his misery. He wondered if the beast was intelligent or if it was the mindless monster that people whispered about. If it had no brains, it might not think to torment him. It couldn’t be as wicked as a truly evil human surely.

Tears came to his eyes, the reality of the moment slamming into him. This was actually happening to him wasn’t it? Virgil really was tied up in a barn like some beast, waiting to be dragged out into the forest and murdered, all because his name had been called. All because he was different and unwanted. 

Rope rubbed against his sensitive wrists, the press of coarse fibers into skin keeping him grounded in the moment. It stopped him from completely getting lost in his own horrible thoughts. Everytime he felt the wave of sickness and horror rise up in him, he couldn’t help but sag a little, his legs trembling and growing weak. His body would give up on him, limbs giving way only for his wrists to catch against the shaggy rope, each time digging deeper and deeper into him, the pain jerking him back upright.

He was going to die. He was going to die, die, die, die, _di-_

“Hello Virgil, you’re looking well.” The oily tones of Dorian had his head jerking up, thoughts torn from the horrible and short future that awaited him and back to the moment at hand. Back to reality and the sight of another man standing in front of him. Virgil had been so caught up in his own horror that he hadn’t heard the doors to the barn open or the click of well polished shoes against the ground as the other man approached him.

He looked as oily as his voice sounded, and there was something so very slimy about Dorian Raaz. His pale yellow hair was slicked back under the top hat he wore, obsessively neat and arranged so that you could barely see a single strand out of place. His eyes were dark in contrast, a deep dark blue that bordered on black, something unsettling about those eyes. In his more fanciful flights of fancy, Virgil had wondered if they had the power to chill the very blood in his veins - or if he was simply granting Dorian to much control over his thinking.

The mere sight of Dorian never failed to set his teeth on edge and now, at the end of his life, Virgil couldn’t understand why he had wasted so much of short life around the other man, why he had tried to ignore his own feelings just because it wasn’t proper. Not that he had been given much choice in the matter of course, but he had said no eventually. He should have said no before. 

As always, Dorian looked impeccable, his well made suit perfectly tailored to fit him, the three piece black suit made of the most expensive fabric that you could buy. It wasn’t the sort of outfit someone would normally wear in a barn, but of course, Dorian somehow managed to pull it off, making Virgil’s own patchwood clothing feel all the more shabby and embarrassing because of it. 

The head of his cane gleamed silver white in the pale light, a stark contrast against the black of his outfit, the only hint of colour in his ensemble at all. He tapped it lightly against the ground, Virgil’s eyes drawn to the bottom as it moved up and down, the repetitive little taps giving him something to focus on beside his own thoughts, or the frankly shudder worthy appearance of Dorian. What was he up to? What did he want? 

Nobody was supposed to come in here. Hadn’t that been the whole point of locking him up in this barn? To make sure he could be alone for his little ‘coming to terms with his approaching death’ party. Yet here stood Dorian, that same smug smile on his face. The one that never failed to make Virgil want to punch him in his stupid mouth. 

Only Dorian would have dared to have entered of course. Only Dorian wouldn’t have cared about the rules because only Dorian would have been able to ignore them so effortlessly. Nobody would ever dream to question him on his actions. Not the all powerful Dorian, the man who owned half the village and had his hooks digging deep into the other half. One of the elders of the village, he was a powerful man who had come from a powerful family. 

He owed his start to his name alone but everyone had quickly grown to respect and fear him in equal measure. There was something skin crawling about him, something about the smile perhaps, or the glint in his pale eyes whenever misfortune befell someone. Dorian was always on hand when someone was in trouble, always there with a faux expression of concern on his face, always offering his aid in whatever way someone might need. Wither it be money, food, a place to stay, help getting their crops in the ground, helping them get new cattle, he was always there, willing to stop someone from sliding even further into debt and disaster. Dorian had it all and there seemed no end to his generosity but Virgil knew better.

He never _gave_ anyone anything. Any gift was in reality a loan. And he always collected, more often than not with some hefty interest, that could never be truly paid off. Once someone was caught in his web, there were limited ways out - death being one of them. It was rarely money that he was after - why would it be, when he owned so much already? He had no need for money, the village was to all intents and purposes his to play with as he wanted. People though... Dorian collected people like his mother had collected pretty flowers. Squeezed them for all they were worth and then file them away just for the pleasure of knowing they belonged to him. All he had to do was snap his fingers and someone would be there, for whatever reason he wanted.

Dorian was very much a large fish in the tiny pond that was the village. Virgil had sometimes wondered why he had never left, gone to the cities and use his money and influence there. Surely he could do so much better than torment and string up all these people, surely he could make a name for himself in a larger area, could gain even more power in such a situation. Dorian had even told him the answer once. Why leave for bigger things and run the risk of losing it all, when you had a whole little kingdom of your own? It might be small but it was his. Then he had smiled in that same skin crawling way and reached out for Virgil’s hand. It was not the only thing that was his, Dorian had promised. What Dorian wanted, he got.

Everyone bar Virgil had had the sense not to cross him. Then again, Virgil always had been a slow learner, hadn't paid attention to any of the warning signs of how dangerous it would be to have the man as an enemy. He had somehow thought he could humiliate Dorian in the most public manner possible and not suffer any punishment for it. 

It seemed as though his actions were finally catching up to him.


	2. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil is confronted by his past and forced to make a life or death choice about his future - as short as it might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two at last! I certainly hope for this to be a bit more a regular updated story but at the same time I’ve probably cursed it by saying that. Oh dear. He is alas not in this story yet, but happy birthday to one proud papa Patton! I’m looking forward to when he does arrive. 
> 
> Thank you so very much for all the lovely comments on the first chapter, it really meant the world to me to know that people were interested in seeing where this story is going and wanted to see more. So without any further ado, enjoy things getting so very much worse.

** **

### Into the Woods

** **

“Have you reconsidered my very generous offer?” Dorian asked, one hand lifting to brush his knuckles ever so gently against Virgil’s pale skin, caressing over his cheek. It took everything in Virgil not to pull away from the unwanted touch as he wanted, but he knew better than to give Dorian any cause for anger, especially as he was tied up and unable to defend himself. Well, he sort of knew better. He had still turned him down after all and all but signed his own death warrant as a consequence.

The softest touch could turn into a violent blow in a heartbeat. Virgil had never actually been on the receiving end of those touches but he had seen Dorian lose his temper with other people and animals more times than he could count during their relationship together. Not that he would have called it a relationship. A relationship implied a lot of things that they had never had. Not that it had been a choice to be in it, not on Virgil’s side at least. There was rarely a choice when it came to the pale eyed man still standing in front of him, still touching him, Virgil swallowing heavily. Dorian’s eyes dropped to watch his throat and that made Virgil feel all the more sick.

For some reason Dorian had decided that he had wanted Virgil. It had been almost flattering at first, the most powerful man in the village paying court to him. It would have been easy enough to lose his head over it, gifts arriving on a near daily basis, the rest of the village suddenly paying attention to him, treating him with respect. Even if it had been respect born out of being Dorian’s chosen, rather than respect that he had truly earned. 

He wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t secretly relished the sight of his one time bully scrambling to stay out of his way in the fear that Virgil might turn around and tell Dorian all of the terrible things he had done to him when they were kids, all the anger filled beatings he had dished out to Virgil. He wouldn’t have done though. Even in those heady first days of being with Dorian, he would never have wanted him to use his power in such a way. He would have never wanted someone to become hurt because of him and so Virgil had stuck to enjoying the other aspects of being Dorian’s partner, the good food, the good times. 

It had quickly turned unpleasant though, when Virgil had realised that no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he wasn’t attracted to him. There was nothing he felt but revulsion whenever Dorian so much as held his hand, let alone when they kissed. Anyone else might have simply played along. Either convinced themselves that given time they would grow to love him or simply not cared enough either way. The perks of being with Dorian surely outweighed the tiny consideration of feelings or lack thereof. 

Virgil was not anyone else. Virgil couldn’t live a future where that was his reality. 

It had all come to ahead that fateful night when Dorian had to all intents and purposes proposed to him. Dorian had never come out and actually used those words of course, he had assumed that he wouldn’t need to, that Virgil would understand what was being asked and be sensible of the honour being shown him, a poor farmer's son who had no prospects, no hope aside from this one, near impossible chance. Who would even dream of Virgil turning him down? He had though. Had all but run out of the mansion, fleeing back to his own run down little house as though the hounds of hell themselves had been on his tail. 

They hadn’t spoken since but Virgil should have known better than to assume that Dorian would have simply forgotten such an insult. That he wouldn’t find some horrible way to have his revenge. His failure had been a lack of imagination. 

“I could convince them to change their minds you know...” Dorian offered, voice as smooth as silk. His hand continued the brush over Virgil’s cheek, absently drawing patterns against him, touching for the sake of touching. Touching because he felt he could, felt as though he had the right to do as he pleased to anything and anyone. That included a nobody like Virgil who had insulted Dorian.

The offer hung in the air around them, a temptation that Virgil couldn’t ignore, his eyes lifting to meet the cold gaze of the other man. Dorian smiled, expression completely lacking any warmth, the sort of smile that felt to Virgil as though it had been practised in front of a mirror rather than being created out of any actual emotion. It was the kind of smile he could imagine on the face of a predator as it circled its prey, debating if it should strike or have some more fun with it first. It made him cringe, a shudder of pure revulsion crawling up the back of his spine, Virgil unable to help the flinch as he finally tried - and failed - to put any distance between them, twisting rather uselessly in the ropes. All he really managed was to pull his face away, the restraints stopping him from actually managing to get back from the other man bar the tiniest of gaps, the male so close he could almost feel the heat radiating from him. 

Now the smile dropped into a something serious, a stern expression as Dorian deliberately closed the tiny space Virgil had attempted to create. He made a sharp little clicking noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, hand drifting lower to grab Virgil’s chin, holding in him place once more. The grip wasn’t particularly hard but it was a warning, something that could twist into violence in a second, the unspoken threat there. 

After all, he was no longer Dorian’s partner - he was barely even still a member of the village and come tomorrow he would be cast out, his name recorded in some secret place, a shrine to their victims but nothing more than letters on a wall. Virgil knew the room, a place they said they honoured those who had given their lives for the good of the village but he had never been in it. Nobody he knew had been in it. Maybe it didn’t even exist and he would truly be nothing, forgotten and lost in the wind like all those who had gone before him.

“Behave,” Dorian told him simply, as though he was talking to one of his guard dogs instead of another person. 

Virgil didn’t know what it was about him that Dorian desired so much. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that Virgil had been the only person to ever say no to Dorian, the only one foolish - or suicidal - enough to refuse the man. It was an unspoken fact that you did as he wanted, and he had wanted Virgil. Had managed to claim him for a little while too, even if it had never gone beyond kisses, memories that made him want to throw up whenever he thought of them.

As much as Virgil hated it, he knew full well that if Dorian had simply wanted... _that_ , then he could have taken it by violence from Virgil. He could have had him dragged to his large mansion and nobody would have so much as batted an eye at the behaviour. Nobody would have come to his rescue and nobody would have even listened, let alone believed him if he had dared to tell anyone about it. Yes, if that had been the reason, then Dorian could have gained it without going to these ridiculous levels. It wouldn’t explain why he had proposed marriage shortly before the lottery had been drawn, why he had apparently wanted to bind himself to Virgil for the rest of their lives. 

Whatever it was that he truly wanted from Virgil, it was more than just one night of violence. Virgil normally found not knowing something for sure almost unbearable, his mind coming up with all manner of possibilities, each one more horrific than the last. When it came to this however, he was more than happy to remain blissfully ignorant as to what fate Dorian would have chosen for him given the chance. 

“My price is not so very high, is it Virgil? I offer you your life back, riches, power. You would be one of the most important people in the village instead of the pathetic little bug you are, you would live, and you would have to give so very little in return. I give second chance so rarely Virgil. Think about it.” The words were poison, dripping into his ears and spreading through his veins, offering him the chance of freedom, the chance of life.

So that was what it had come down to. 

He should have known that Dorian had been behind all of this. Virgil had always suspected the lottery or votes were rigged and here was his worst enemy blithely confirming it as though it was nothing more than a game to him. A game that he clearly had every intention of winning, those eyes boring into Virgil’s own brown ones. 

Death or Dorian. Except Dorian was a living death, something slow and agonizing. Another cut every day, draining him bit by bit, killing him slowly from the inside out. He could picture it, imagine all the invisible chains that would wrap around him, slowly strangling him day by day. Each day would be the same as the one before it and yet at the same time each day would be so much worse. Virgil didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to be dragged out to the woods and left for some painful, horrible death that his mind was just creating over and over in his mind, each time worse as his mind added more and more to the scenario. 

Fingers slipped from his chin, tracing their way up his cheek and into his hair, running through it in a calming, relaxing gesture. Dorian had played with his hair more times than Virgil could count but he barely took any notice of it right now, too caught up in his own mind and the choice he had to make. 

“Come now Virgil, what do you say?” His words shook him out of his dark thoughts, and back to the moment at hand, aware now of fingers in his hair. Virgil couldn’t help but shiver, a tiny part of him relaxing despite himself, feeling some of the stress drain away at the feeling of blessed fingers pressing lightly against his scalp. Dorian always did know how to calm him down. It was yet another thing that Virgil hated, how easy it was for the man to control him. There had been dozens of evenings when Virgil had wanted to go home and all it had taken was a hand in his hair and Virgil had ended up falling asleep next to Dorian on his sofa instead, waking the next morning with his jacket thrown over him and a terrible pain in his neck. 

Dorian had that look on his face, one that Virgil had seen many, many times before. It was a look that said he was confident he was going to get his own way, as he always did. It was a look that had already proclaimed his victory and he was just waiting for the other person to accept it. It was a look that never failed to make Virgil want to punch him in his stupid, smug little face and do whatever he had to in order to spite him. No matter the consequences after. 

Right now, half hanging from a beam that his own people had tied him too, with another sixteen hours of hell to wait before his horrible death, the consequences were very clear. A sudden death, no matter how painful, was still better than the endless torment that becoming Dorian’s husband would be. Virgil had experienced enough as Dorian’s unwilling partner to know that to accept him for life would be torture, if not physically, then mentally. Eyes dropped to the floor, staring at the other man's perfectly shined boots, imagining his life like that, how he would have to smile and laugh at jokes that weren’t funny. How he would trail after Dorian like one of his aforementioned guard dogs, unable to do anything on his own, unable to make any choices but the ones already set out for him. How he would sit where he was told, dress how he was told - Dorian had mentioned more than once that the patchwork cloak he insisted on wearing was ridiculous - and generally think how he was told.

He would rather die.

God, he actually would, wouldn’t he. He would rather die than become Dorian’s husband and he was going to quite literally die because of that choice. If that was truly his only choice, then he was going to pick the monster in the wood. Better that, than this. 

Hand suddenly tightened in his hair, tugging his head back and making Virgil gasp a little in surprise, eyes widening as he was suddenly looking back into the cold, pale gaze of Dorian. Everything he had been thinking must have been clearly reflected in his eyes because the smug look in Dorian’s eyes and smile actually faded a little as they stared at each other, for a brief moment staring into each others souls. 

Well, Virgil didn't know if Dorian had a soul but whatever he saw in those cold eyes frightened him, shook and chilled him enough to reinforce the desire for death over a lifetime looking into that gaze, into letting him touch him. If he actually had a choice - what a novel concept, someone like him having any real, meaningful choice - then he would go out on his own terms, while there was still something left of him to die rather than to mentally depart years before his body. 

It was almost worth it, knowing he would die for this, to see genuine surprise on his face. After all this time, he had finally managed to surprise him. Virgil hoped that would be enough for him, later. 

For what felt like an eternity and yet was probably no longer than a single intake of shallow breath, they stared at each other, stared into each other before Dorian slowly blinked, the surprise sliding from his face as though it had never been there, until he looked as cold and as impassive as he normally did.

“Really, Virgil?” Dorian asked, lips curling up into a sneer. There was some savage satisfaction to be had in that reaction, as brief as it had been, in knowing he had won this tiny battle, even if it meant his end. Dorian hadn’t won everything, Virgil had managed to claim this one tiny victory. 

If nothing else, then Dorian was going to have to live knowing that someone would rather die than have to live with him. Virgil hoped that the thought would fester in his mind, that it would linger long after any other thoughts of the man he had planned to marry would fade into nothing. Virgil didn’t expect Dorian to remember him one way or another after he had... gone into the woods, but he found he rather liked the idea of being an awkward little thought in the back of the mind. Something to torment Dorian with at two in the morning. Let him be a flebite of an annoying thought that would return time and time again to the other man - that someone had willingly chosen to die rather than be touched by him. 

“Really.” His voice didn’t quiver or shake, something Virgil was rather proud of all things considered. Dorian sighed, expression shifting into something patronising, a shrug of his shoulders as though the answer didn’t matter at all, but he was ashamed that Virgil had come up with a response that stupid. 

“A shame,” Dorian mused, taking a step back, fingers lifting to drift over his own lips. “You would have been a prize to possess like no other... but I am nothing if not a gentleman. I will honour your wishes.”

A gentleman. 

Virgil had thought of a lot of words, over the years, before and after his disastrous relationship with Dorian, to describe the other man. A gentleman had never even come close to being one of them.

Dorian sighed once more, something heavy and final in the noise, and then shook his head in apparent disappointment, cane lifting to brush against Virgil’s face, tracing over his cheekbone, following the dip as Virgil tried in vain to pull away. For a moment, Virgil thought he was going to hit him with the head of it. Then again, Dorian didn’t need to inflict any further punishment; time was going to do all that for him, first with Virgil's own thoughts and then with the reality of what was happening. 

“Goodbye Virgil.” 

He spun gracefully on his heel - some part of Virgil inwardly surprised he wasn’t wearing a cape just to complete his over the top villain look - before striding out of the barn, his cane clicking against the stone floor. For a second, his silhouette was lit by the setting sun, throwing his whole frame into dramatic relief before he stepped forward, moving out into sunlight and a freedom Virgil would never taste again. 

He didn’t even look back. 

\--

Time moved in a funny pace within the barn. After Dorian had left, Virgil had indeed been left completely alone, with nobody else even coming close. A blink and hours had galloped past. Another blink and the stray particle of dust he had been watching float down in a sunbeam had suddenly somehow gotten higher, as though time had rewound itself. 

He had been in the barn for an eternity and no time at all when the door was pushed open once more, a group of men come to escort him to his final resting place. They didn’t speak, they barely even looked at him as they roughly pulled his arms free of the rope, Virgil hissing as blood started to sluggishly flow down to his hands and fingers once more.

His arms were killing him, aching terribly from being forced into an upright position for so many hours. Shoulders screamed in protest with every breath he took, every tiny little shift that he had no choice but to make, no matter how hard he tried to limit them. Each little tremble and shift felt like agony, as if he was throwing himself onto a knife time and time again. The relief upon finally being able to shake some of that strain loose almost made Virgil sob, his protesting muscles stiff and unyielding, unwilling to move as they should no matter how badly he tried to ease them into something approaching comfort. 

Not that there was much time to stretch and try and work out the aches and pains, before his arms were roughly grabbed again, fresh rope wound around his tender wrists. This time, his arms were tied in front of him, a rope attached to his wrists so that they could lead him like some animal to the slaughter. They pulled him from the barn, rope constantly pulled taut to make sure he had no ease or slack, that he couldn’t even think about trying to pull away. 

They led him like that back into the village, where everyone was waiting to watch. His final walk of shame. Yet another indignity for the chosen victim to endure, having to walk the length of the village with everyone watching them as they go. The elders said it was another way to honour them, to make sure that everyone knew what was being done in their name, but Virgil had always thought it was simply another way to keep them in line, remind them every time of what they had so narrowly escaped and how lucky they were not to have been chosen. 

Virgil kept his shoulders hunched, eyes fixed firmly on his bound wrists in front of him, staring at the rope as though trying to memorise each little lose strand and flex.

Somewhere among the crowd, he was sure would be Dorian, watching the scene, enjoying his revenge no doubt. Virgil wasn’t going to look for him. He wouldn’t give that slime ball the final satisfaction of meeting his gaze because no matter how he held himself and no matter how he refused to let any sound slip free, Virgil knew full well that the fear would be shining in his eyes, would betray him and he wouldn’t give Dorian that. 

Numbly, he wondered if his mother was among the viewers, if she was watching her son one final time or if she had already said goodbye in her head and had turned away from the sight. How was she going to cope without him?

Not that he should care, she had been one of the prime movers in encouraging his toxic relationship with Dorian, she had constantly sung the other man's praises, talking about how the money he had would save them both, how a little discomfort and awkwardness was only to be expected. He should just lie back and think of all the good that would come of being with him, how neither would ever be hungry or cold again.

She had even threatened to disown him and throw him out if he persisted in refusing to marry Dorian - a threat she only didn’t carry out because she needed him a lot more than he needed her. Who else would do all the heavy lifting around the house? Who else would chop the firewood and bring home food for her? Who would fix all the tiny little things that kept going wrong around the house, sort them before they became huge problems? Despite everything, Virgil still hoped she would be okay. Had he killed her too with his actions? Virgil hoped not, prayed not. He had to cling to the belief that she would be taken care of, just as they always claimed the families would be.

Virgil almost felt relief when the last few people were passed and they were winding out past the last few scattered buildings, towards the trees that were looming against the fields, their bright orange leaves a stunning contrast to the darkness swirling in his mind and soul.

He was almost glad he had gotten away from the cold or embarrassed gaze of the village folk, who couldn't quite meet his gaze. That had been him, once upon a time. Almost glad. One ordeal over. Another about to begin and when that was over... well, even now Virgil wasn’t quite ready to truly think about what would happen when it was all over. 

It didn't take him long to get hopelessly lost within the twisting pathways of the forest, trailing deep into the woods, much further than he had ever dreamed of going. The trees seemed to bunch together, their branches brushing against each other, tangling together to create a full canopy that cut out most of the sunlight. What little filtered through was coloured by the rich yellows and oranges of the autumn leaves, making the sunlight brighter, almost magical.

A solitary clearing suddenly came into view, a particularly large tree standing out from the others. Its roots stretched wide, creeping up to the surface in places, diving up and down, something ancient and he wasn't that surprised to be tugged over to it.

Virgil was forced down on his knees, the rope they had been using to drag him wrapped around the trunk and fastened tightly. There was no give in it, and barely any length at all, Virgil unable to climb back to his feet, the rope simply not long enough for him to move or even think of trying to escape. He was as hopelessly trapped as he had been in the barn, and there was nothing he could do to change that. Even if he has entertained some feeble hope that he might be able to break free and escape from the bindings, the way in which he was restrained would have destroyed that hope. There was really no getting out of this.

A thick blindfold was pressed over his eyes, blocking the rest of the world from view. For a split second he had an almost dizzying rush of vertigo, of sharp, intense fear as the world became black and nothing else, cutting him off from the world for the final time.

“Sorry kid.” The voice was hoarse, an almost painful whisper that told him exactly who was speaking, without the need of his sight. Jason. Dorian’s favorite little enforcer.

“No, you’re not,” Virgil replied quietly. He felt strangely calm. Or perhaps it was simply empty, as if there was nothing left in him to get angry or scared about, that previous rush of emotions draining him dry.

Jason didn’t bother to reply. Virgil was glad about that too, and he had more than enough lies in his life, he didn't need his final conversation to be yet another series of falsehoods. A few moments later he felt something wrap around his mouth, a heavy gag forced into him, making it impossible to talk. Virgil didn't understand why they had decided to gag him right at the end of all things.

So he couldn’t scream?

Or was it so those who were abandoning him to this fate didn’t have to hear any curses he might throw at them as they left him here to die?

Or was it really so anyone unlucky enough to be nearby when his end came, wouldn’t have to listen to his screams?

Virgil didn’t consider himself a brave person, not really. As much as he tried to keep himself together, to win each tiny victory he could, he doubted he could truly face his death with a calm mind. He would almost certainly cry and sob and even plead because he was a coward and didn't really want to die.

The sound of footsteps grew fainter and fainter, until, no matter how hard he tried to focus, he couldn’t hear them at all. 

Virgil was alone for the final time. 

It started to rain. Soft drops that turned violent in an instant, drenching him as he knelt there, his whole frame soaked in a matter of moments. A series of violent shivers racked him, Virgil unable to control his body as it shook and shook, trying to find some vestige of warmth within the cold, but there was nothing but rain and clothes which were soaking wet.

At least when whatever showed up to kill him saw him shiver, they would think it was because of the rain and not because of fear. Well. It would be both, but then they didn’t need to know the truth. Let them think it was only because of the weather. 

Virgil wanted to laugh at that, something high pitched and hysterical, a muffled squeak slipping out despite the heavy gag. As though it mattered what the beast did or didn’t think. He was still going to die and nobody was going to know or care what his final moments had been like. 

He was going to _die_ his brain couldn’t help but remind him, he was going to be eaten alive or whatever it was the monsters did to their victims - no bones were ever found but then again, no remains of any of the people were found. You didn’t hear any stories about their last moments because there was nobody around to see them. 

Virgil shuddered once more, the movement making him even more aware of how cold and wet he was, how every bit of clothing was sticking to him now. His hair was flat against his skull, just as the gag and blindfold was sodden and soaked through, pressing against his lips and eyelids, an added layer of unpleasantness on top of everything else. 

Tears forced their way through closed eyelids, staining the blindfold with the salt of his silent cries, and this was finally it, he was finally out of chances, out of time. Maybe he should have swallowed his pride, his wishes, maybe he should have sold his body and soul to Dorian because at least he would still be alive instead of trapped like this, instead of condemned to some horrible death that was going to hurt. Virgil could feel his breath catching in his throat, the terror making it hard to breathe and he didn't want pain, he was scared, he was so scared, he wasn't ready to d-

The snap of a twig had him freezing, every limb stiffening as he strained to hear over the sound of his own heartbeat and ragged breath, twin noises that had become his whole world until this moment. The sound of rain continued to pelt against the leaves and the canopy overhead, Virgil slowly tuning them out as well, so that he could focus on any sounds closer to him, coming from the ground.

Another twig snapped, breath catching sharply in his throat as the meaning became all too clear. 

Something was in the clearing with him. 

And it was getting closer.


	3. Blood, Sweat and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting starts and a desperate struggle for survival... ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter three! Where things get so so much worse for our boy Virgil! I hope you are all ready for this, it was a bit of a struggle for me to write because of what happens. Thank you for sticking with me, I hope you enjoy it and yeah... I am so sorry Virgil. 
> 
> **Chapter Warnings:** There is near death, blood and violence in this chapter, nothing overly graphic but please be aware and stay safe!

** **

### Blood, Sweat and Tears

** **

His first reaction was to try and move, to pull away from the sound but the rope held firm, giving him no movement. The ground around him was wet, mud and grass sticky thanks to the rain, denying him any firm purchase to even try and climb into a crouching position and he no doubt looked even more pathetic than he had originally but he couldn’t help himself. His heart was hammering away in his chest, every inch of him straining for some kind of escape that was impossible.

The sound of footsteps squelching on wet leaves came to his ears and whatever was coming closer no longer seemed interested in being quiet but rather focused on speed, a rapid little pace getting nearer and nearer. Whatever was out there had clearly worked out that Virgil knew it was there and so what was the point in being quiet? 

Limbs froze at that knowledge, the fear taking over completely now and he couldn’t move, could barely breathe as he sat there, waiting for his death. 

Something cool brushed over his cheek, fingers of a sort, Virgil flinching away from the contact in sheer terror, a soft little muffled gasp slipping free from under the gag and he had thought he had felt fear when his name had been called, or when he had been left to muse over his choices in the barn. He had thought he had felt fear properly, when the blindfold had been tied around his face, plunging him into this eternal darkness. Virgil had even thought that he had perhaps run out of the emotion, that he had been drained dry by the sheer overwhelming terror that had been coursing through his body all those times. 

Now it just seemed as though those had been nothing more than the faintest hint of the fear he could actually feel. The terror that gripped him by the throat and squeezed tightly, cutting off all and any attempts to breathe and it was possible he might have a heart attack and drop dead before the beast actually did anything. Virgil wasn’t sure which of them would be more surprised if that happened. 

He could feel more tears leaking out onto the blindfold, and all Virgil wanted was to beg for his life, to plead and scream and grovel in the wet mud. He didn’t have any pride left, not now, not actually faced with his death and he knew if Dorian had been here, he would have accepted the deal just to stay alive for a moment longer. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, a piece of lead or thick wood and even if he hadn’t been gagged, he doubted he could have formed any words. Certainly nothing eloquent enough to be worth his life. 

The fingers on his face moved away for a moment before he could feel them against his skin once more, tracing higher up his cheek. What was the beast doing? Why was it drawing this moment out and it wasn’t as though he wanted it to get to the stabbing and crushing or whatever it had planned, but the anticipation was, quite literally, killing him. 

Virgil felt as though every inch of him a statue, limbs refusing to even shake with the fear that was filling his bloodstream with every frantic pump of a heart that was was growing steadily louder as well as faster and Virgil was surprised that the creature, whatever it was, couldn't seem to hear it. The drums were screaming to him, a relentless pounding that made his head hurt as though it was some physical pain, as if someone was hitting him repeatedly on the head with a stick. And still those fingers moved, slipping into his hair as they crept towards the back of his skull. That got a reaction, Virgil unable to help the soft shudder that ran through his body. Even in the middle of terror, he couldn’t help but shiver at a touch in his hair. 

The blindfold dropped away from his eyes, nimble fingers unfastening the knot, his gag being pulled away a few moments later. He could see again, could speak, Virgil drawing in a shuddering breath as he fought to swallow down the urge to scream as loud as his heart was beating. His mind was flailing wildly about, trying to work out what was going on and coming up with all sorts of ridiculous possibilities as a result. That this was all some sick kind of game and the monster wanted to draw it out for a bit of fun.

The more fanciful part of him even wondered if his terror had inspired some kind of pity within his would be murderer and he was going to show mercy - but no, that was ridiculous. There had been far more worthy people dragged into the woods to die and none of them had come back. He wasn’t special, there was no reason why his fear should have struck something in the monster. Virgil blinked rapidly, now that he could see again, but despite that, the pouring rain still obscured his vision, staring up at the... man? 

It was a man in front of him. 

A surprisingly attractive man in fact. He was lean without being skinny, although Virgil couldn’t make out any details of his figure, due to the rain and the black leather coat he wore. It almost reached the floor, the edges brushing against his boots. Virgil lifted his eyes higher, taking in the way the rain was affecting him too, how it had flattened the man’s dark brown hair flat against his head. Strange dark glasses were resting on the rain sodden hair and Virgil had seen plenty of people with glasses before of course. He had just never seen them use glass of such a dark colour in the lenses. 

Virgil swallowed heavily as he looked down into the stranger’s face, unable to delay meeting his eyes any longer. A deep scowl was plastered across it, emotions twisting any attractiveness into a mask of disgust and ugliness. Eyebrows were drawn together as he looked down at Virgil with unmistakable anger, a hot fury that was such a shocking contrast to the cold anger he had seen on Dorian’s face, the last person to really interact with him. Where Dorian had been the slow creeping chill of an icy death, this man promised to be the spark and flash of a forest fire, incinerating everything in its path and no less deadly than the cold. 

His gaze was terrifying, Virgil feeling himself shrink a little under the gaze, his eyes golden, impossibly so. They glowed with a strange sort of fire and Virgil knew they couldn’t really be glowing. People’s eyes didn’t glow, that was insane. It had to be a result of the lack of sleep, or maybe the way the light from through the leaves was hitting him, just enough to colour them and give them that unnatural glow. Maybe he really had gone insane from fear and was hallucinating them - there were all sorts of reasons as to why they seemed gold and all made more sense than the idea they might actually be glowing.

Was this the monster in the woods? 

He didn’t recognise him, Virgil knew he wasn’t from his own village. Somehow, he highly doubted the man was from any of the other villages that were dotted around the treeline either, all filled with people that were far too scared to come anywhere near the boundary of the woods, let alone cross under their trees watchful branches. The stranger held himself in a confident way, he hadn’t come across this clearing by chance, he had deliberately come here and had known his way around the area, because Virgil hadn’t heard him until he was a few feet away. He had come here along paths he must have walked countless times before. 

He wasn’t afraid of the woods. Virgil could see it in his face as he stared up at him, too stunned to even think about struggling any further, merely blinking in a futile attempt to keep some of the rain out of his eyes. This man didn’t fear whatever was in it. Which meant either he was more scary than the monster in the woods... or else he was the monster in the woods. 

Either way, Virgil didn’t fancy his chances in surviving this encounter. He shuddered again, the cold of the rain chilling him to the bone and at this rate the weather was going to kill him before his own heart or the monster did. Lucky him. So many ways to die, so little time. 

“Virgil,” he blurted out, the man taking a half step back, the anger in his eyes shifting to something of confusion, head tilted ever so subtly to the left as he apparently waited for an explanation to that word. He shivered again, violently this time, his whole body aching from the pain of being trapped in one place for so long combined with the fear and the cold, the wet that had drenched him completely. Virgil couldn’t even remember what it was like to be warm. 

“My name... is Virgil.” If this man was going to kill him, then at the very least he was going to have to know his name and look him in the eye as a person as he did it. Virgil refused to be another nameless number to add to his body count. It might not change anything but at least he would be a person right up until the end. The man’s green eyes narrowed a little - green, see they were green his brain babbled, they must have always been green and it had to have been a trick of the light before, one less mystery to worry about. “When you kill me, I want to be Virgil.” 

The man’s jaw seemed to tighten, the muscles around his mouth twitching slightly as if he was swallowing down the urge to say something and he instantly wanted to take those words back. Had he angered him in some way? Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, because who knew what he would do to him now that he was angry. Virgil could feel the urge to just ramble building up in him, the urge to just spill everything he could think of in order to try and put off the awful moment for another second. 

He bit down hard on his lip instead, forcing the words away and he had already said more than he should, more than he had meant to. What if the monster was like those creatures from his mother's fairy tales and he had just handed over his name and so his very freedom to him? No, that didn’t make sense, the beast already owned him, and had from the second he had been given. He didn’t need a name for that. 

The possible beast pulled his hands away from near Virgil’s face, reaching instead to a pocket half way down his long jacket. He couldn’t help the flinch that came with the movement, the split second where Virgil had thought that he was pulling his arm back in order to punch or otherwise hurt him. He had been in that situation too many times, hiding from people bigger and stronger than himself who delighted in seeing how badly they could beat him. 

Above him, the man froze, his hand still within his pocket. His eyes seemed to somehow be glowing once more, no matter how impossible Virgil tried to tell himself that was. A growl slipped from his lips, something fierce and guttural, something that made the blood in Virgil's veins freeze a little and that wasn’t a normal sound, that wasn’t something that a person was meant to be able to make. Virgil had growled plenty of times over the years, grumpy, tired, even pleased, all when words had felt like too much hassle to actually form. They had never sounded quite so animal like as that. 

Then the stranger’s hand moved back out of his pocket and all thoughts fled his mind beyond what he was holding. 

A knife. It was as though Virgil couldn’t remember how to breathe, his whole attention narrowing to the blade that flashed in the man’s hands and the blade alone. Eyes grew wide as he stared at it, his heart pounding erratically in his ears. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe as the man bent down, that knife getting closer and closer. 

He leaned forward, blade shining, wet with raindrops, angled to stab him and Virgil couldn’t even convince his frozen form to try and move as the weapon slashed down -

Only to cut through the cord keeping him restrained to the tree instead of plunging it into his chest as he had imagined. He was free. In a way at least. He was no longer trapped against the wood although that didn’t really change anything long term. Adrenaline pumped through his body in belated response to the danger, finally breaking through that ice and letting him scramble to his feet, bound hands drawn tight against his chest, eyeing the stranger nervously. 

Why had he released him? For fun? It couldn’t be that entertaining, murdering someone who was already tied up like some demented gift and without thinking about it, Virgil took a couple of stumbling steps to the side, shifting so that there was more than an arms length between them now. 

Standing up, he could take in more details of the person who had either come to kill or save him. Virgil had to stop getting his hopes up, had to stop indulging in such wild flights of fantasy. Nobody was coming to save him and certainly not a mysterious stranger that growled and wielded a knife as though it was a part of him.

He was taller than Virgil for a start. Well, of course he was, everyone always seemed to be taller than Virgil. He was a lot more attractive too, the sort of beauty that would have taken his breath away, if it hadn’t already been stolen by the sheer terror of the moment. Why did his murderer have to be attractive? What did that say about Virgil, that he found him such, even seconds away from being stabbed and he could feel a spurt of hysterical laughter building up and slipping free, the noise making the other blink rapidly and before his own eyes, he could see the gold fade back to green.

Perhaps Virgil was going mad, but he would almost say the anger on the other man’s face shifted into something resembling concern as he took a step towards him, easily closing the gap that had opened up between them, the knife lifting up into the air and it didn’t matter that the last time the weapon had been raised, it had been to cut through some of the bindings holding him. It didn’t even matter that while the stranger hadn’t said a word to him, he hadn’t exactly done anything threatening. Unless you counted the impossible eyes, the deadly scowl of anger and the terrifying growling which wasn’t human, but he wasn’t focused on that evidence right now. 

All he was thinking about was this time. And how this time, that blade was going to end up embedded in his body, he just knew it. 

Adrenaline was still flooding his system and he simply reacted, head ducking down and charging at the man, colliding heavily with him, the two going down in a tangle of flailing limbs and muffled curses. His head knocked against the man’s chest, the sensation making his head ring for a moment as he tried desperately to gather the tattered ends of his thoughts into something close to sense. 

Blade had gone flying, spinning off into the distance to land somewhere in the mud. Virgil didn’t know exactly where it had landed and quite frankly, he didn’t care. Away from his tender, weak body was more than good enough for him right now. The black glasses had been knocked clean off his opponent's head as well, hands scrambling about in the dirt for them and out of everything, it seemed as though the loss of the glasses was the thing he was most concerned about right now.

Virgil didn’t wait to see any more. He rolled away with another muffled curse, his arms aching painfully as wrists connected against ground that felt hard and unyielding despite the mud that had turned the rest of the clearing into something approaching a quagmire. Even in the middle of panic and fear, he couldn’t help but notice his bad luck, that out of every possible bit of ground, he would land on the one hard, painful part. 

At least it gave him something to push off from, Virgil using his bound arms as though they were one, rising up unsteadily to his feet. In front of him, the apparent beast of the woods was still scrambling around on his knees. Fingers closed around a muddy object, pulling his glasses up off the ground. The rain was doing a good job of cleaning them up and it would surely only be a matter of moments before he was going for the knife as well. Virgil didn’t need to see anything else. He wasn’t about to just stand here and give the man chance to kill him again. He spun, eyes frantically darting around the trees. 

A number of paths branched off in various directions, each twisting and winding their way deeper into the wood. There didn’t seem to be anything else lurking nearby at least, not anything he could see. Virgil didn’t have any plan in mind, any thought about what he was going to do only that he had to get out of here. Path was chosen at random, Virgil sprinting along it like his life depended on it - his life probably did. 

“Wait!” The stranger yelled after him, voice echoing against the trees, the first thing he had said the whole time he had been there. 

Virgil did not wait. 

He was not about to stop and turn around to face someone with a knife that had almost certainly come to stab him with it, someone that was going to be angry because Virgil had shifted so violently between his fight or flight instincts and he couldn't expect any mercy now. Not after he had attacked him first, had been the one to start the violence.

He had no idea how long he ran, feet sliding against the wet ground every time he needed to take a corner, Virgil convinced that any second he was going to feel hot breath on his neck and then a blade stabbing its way into his back. 

He also had no idea where he was going, if he was heading deeper into the woods or making his way to the edges. The walk from his home to the clearing had utterly disoriented him.

His lungs were burning, fire racing through his body as he ran blindly through the woods, with no destination in mind. There was nowhere he could go, nowhere that would be safe. What could he do? Even if by some miracle he could find his way back to his home village, he wouldn’t be welcome there. Knowing them, they would simply tie him up more securely and toss him back into the woods. If they didn't just murder him themselves. Not to mention, Dorian was waiting there and would no doubt use this terror to his advantage. Virgil doubted he had the bravely to deny him a second time.

It was like the old saying; you can never go home again. 

A tree root rose up out of the ground towards him as he blindly ran, foot catching under it and sending him sprawling to the ground. For a moment he simply lay there, panting harshly, too tired to go any further. Virgil had to keep moving. He knew he had to, but convincing his aching body of that was another matter completely. His lungs and limbs didn’t care that there was certain death behind them, begging instead for a relief that couldn’t come. 

Part of him wanted to just remain on the ground, to just give up. What was the point in running when there was nowhere to go? His heart slowed a little, Virgil drawing in great mouthfuls of air as he tried to recover and while he wasn’t exactly unhealthy, he had never needed to run for that long before. Virgil could feel tears running through his face, mingling with the rain that continued to beat down around him. It had -if it were possible - gotten even worse during his mad dash through the trees, and each drop felt more like a slap than a splash, dozens of tiny little pressure points on his skin. It kept him from just giving in as his body begged him to do, and he couldn’t keep lying here, he would die if he stayed here. 

Slowly, Virgil forced himself to stand, legs trembling and protesting against the movement, knees threatening to give out and send him crashing back down to the ground. He shuddered, the motion simply making him more aware of how cold and dirty he was, how unnaturally tired he felt. 

Hands suddenly wrapped around his waist, tugging him backwards, his balance instantly lost. Stomach dipped all the way down to his toes at the unwilling movement as his flagging energy suddenly shot through the roof. Another heavy jolt of adrenaline hit him, rushing through his body harder than even the rain. All thoughts of being tired, of wanting to give up, give in, fled and he was left with only the basic desire to survive. 

Virgil screeched, kicking out with his legs on instinct, trying to break free of a grip that felt like iron, unyielding and solid. The stranger was back, and he had probably found the knife, his heart rate picking up once more as he screamed again, his whole body shaking as he fought for freedom. 

“Look, would you just calm down for a second!” A hand shifted from his waist to wrap itself around his mouth instead, cutting off the noise as best it could and only increasing Virgil’s panic in turn. The other hand crept higher too, moving to pin his already bound arms against the front of his chest so that he couldn’t use them to elbow the man, his thoughts moving too slow. 

“I’m not going to hurt you!”

Lies. 

His life was filled with _lies_ , and he was just so very tired of them all. He was tired of almost everything but it was the lies that he hated the most. They spun around him like the thread of a spider, gossamer thread that was so fine and delicate from a distance and yet possessed far more strength than anyone might suspect. They were sticky things, capable of entangling even the most noble and innocent of thoughts and deeds. Very little good could come of lies, and Virgil didn’t want to die believing yet another one. If he relaxed, it would only give his would be killer more chance to hurt him. 

He struggled without any proper plan, head rocking backwards to try and slam it against the man’s face and while he might not know much about fighting, he knew how to fight dirty. It was the only thing that had saved him in the past, knowing the soft, sensitive points of a person, the areas that would make them stop attacking long enough for Virgil to get away from them. All Virgil was thinking was trying to cause some kind of damage, anything to leave his mark upon him and possibly escape. 

“Quit it!” The stranger’s voice sounded a little choked, restrained almost. Virgil had practised pushing his own emotions deep down and repressing them enough times to recognize when someone was doing that themselves. This man was fighting to keep himself sounding calm, which meant he was probably anything but. He was mad. He was mad and he was going to kill Virgil right here, right now. 

That thought sent his anxiety and fear into overdrive, the last vestiges of common sense and logical thinking vanishing in a heartbeat. Virgil lashed out without any further thought, mouth opening wide, the top lifting above the man’s fingers. He bit down harshly, teeth sinking into the hand that was pressed against his face, as hard and as deeply as he could. 

The man cried out in shock, letting go of Virgil and giving him the chance to half fall, half stagger forward. He twisted as he moved, unwilling to show his back to the man, some primate instinct screaming that he shouldn’t show any kind of weakness to him and that his back was just that. 

There was a faintly incredulous look on the handsome man’s face as he stared down at the palm of his hand, as though he couldn’t quite believe Virgil had actually bit him. Bit him hard enough to draw blood as well, if the red running along his palm was any indication. It wasn’t until he saw that, that he could taste the all too familiar iron tang of blood in his mouth. 

“You... _you_ bit _me?_ ” 

To be honest, part of Virgil couldn’t believe he had done that either and oh god, the man was going to be even angrier than before. Virgil had to have some kind of subconscious death wish, because everything he had done today was akin to hitting a wasps nest and he was just begging to be horribly murdered. That desire not to show him his back was overridden by the more pressing terror and need to get out of here before the man stopped thinking about his hand and started thinking about Virgil once more. 

He turned and bolted. 

Behind him, he was sure he could hear his name being shouted - that was right, he had been a complete idiot and had given the man his name as though they were meeting at some barn dance - but Virgil paid it no heed. He just kept running, the rain and the wind turning the visibility into near nothing. Trees loomed up out of grey clouds seconds before he passed them. 

It was probably the weather that meant he didn’t see the way the trees were thinning out until it was too late, his feet stepping out onto thin air. Where only moments before there had been ground, there was now empty space, the forest floor dropping violently away, shifting into some kind of steep embankment. The drop was almost as tall as the trees, sky and earth spinning around his vision as Virgil tried desperately to remain upright but there was no balance to be found, not with his wrists still tied together.

A scream ripped from his lungs as he fell over the edge, clipping against a large grey boulder that was half embedded in the soil. It sent him flying a little to the side, pain radiating out from where it had connected as he spun. The fall felt like forever and a split second, a moment of dizzying, all encompassing terror as he fell, a moment caught in a breath until, as suddenly and as unexpectedly as it had begun, it ended. 

Virgil landed heavily on his back, another agonising scream torn from his throat as he collided against something hard and curled. Something sharp as well, Virgil feeling something dig deep into his back, the sound of some sickening crunch of something wet and unpleasant filling the air around him. World flickered black and then red, the trees coming in and out focus as he lay there. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t do anything but cry, the pain rippling across him in unending waves, the scent of hot, fresh blood filling his nostrils. 

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, the world flicking in and out of awareness, how long he simply twitched and cried before something other than the pain penetrated his mind and he could think once more. It felt as though he was lying on some tree that had fallen over, the rough bark digging into his back at various points. Virgil had to move, he couldn’t stay here, if he stayed in this spot he would die, he knew it all the way down to his bones.

Despite the rain and the cold, sweat was pouring down his face as he tried to move, the effort only making him scream and sag back against whatever he was lying on. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t... he was going to die. Virgil didn’t even know what had happened, his head rolling to the side as he tried to take in the state of his body. Eyes shifted, moving from the tree trunk he was sprawled across and down his own body. Arms, check, chest, check. Sharp looking tree branch coated in his own blood sticking out of his side, check. 

Wait. 

A tree?

Out of everything, the thing that was actually going to kill him... was a tree?

Virgil felt another laugh bubble up out of him, something wet and gasping, a pathetic wheeze of noise slipping free. It wasn’t funny. He knew it wasn’t funny, it was pathetic, it was tragic that after everything he had gone through, everything that he had managed to survive and every battle he had won, he was going to be defeated by a random piece of wood that had been sticking up into the air.

That was the sort of dumb stupid luck that Virgil was bound to have. A whole forest floor spread out around him and he landed on the one thing that could become a weapon and landed on it with enough force to actually impale himself, and cause mortal harm in the process. It wasn’t funny. It was stupid. He was stupid. To have come so far and to fail on such a simple little thing.

It was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him, another wheezing, broken laugh sounding. He laughed as he coughed up blood. He laughed as the world dimmed and spun alarmingly around him. He laughed with every agonizing bolt of pain that shot through his body. He laughed at the sound of rapid footfalls darting across the ground towards him.

The handsome strangers face appeared in his rapidly diminishing vision, and no, Virgil really wasn’t imagining it, there was certainly concern and worry etched into his features. Maybe... maybe he hadn’t wanted to hurt Virgil after all, despite all the evidence and history to the contrary. Maybe he hadn’t been the enemy in all of this. 

“Virgil! Virgil? Can you hear me?” The man’s voice was frantic, hands lifting and falling as he leaned over him. The undeniable concern made him blink a couple of times, the laughter finally fading away as he realised he was going to die over nothing. The man clearly wasn’t even the monster in the woods because he seemed so worried, Virgil watching as he gingerly pushed fabric aside, trying to get a better look at the wound. If the way his face drained of all colour was any indication, then the wound wasn’t a good one. 

“Just keep breathing... everything is going to be okay, you hear me? I promise you my little wildcat, everything will be... everything will be fine. It’s just a little blood, you’re not going to let something like a tree defeat you, not after kicking my butt.” 

Virgil wished he could believe that, another spike of pain running through him as he breathed out, waves of agony radiating from the wound, noise torn into a scream as the man pressed down his side, apparently trying to stem the bleeding. 

“I’m going to look after you okay? Will you... let me help you?” 

His offer came too late, the world fading even further, and flickering around the edges. He couldn’t answer, even if he had anything to say, the pain too much for his body to handle, his body giving a violent shudder as he coughed. His mouth was full of blood, more and more spilling out over his lips no matter how much he spat out onto his skin and clothes. It stained the surrounding area, as if the whole world was slowly becoming awash in blood. He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want this to be the end but it hurt, it hurt so badly. He couldn’t breathe, each gasp growing more shallow and raspy than the one that had preceded it.

“No, no, don’t... please, don’t do this Virgil.” 

He would have loved to not do this, but it didn’t seem as though he actually had any say in the matter. Virgil gave a final gurgling whimper as he lost his grip on reality, mind slipping and sliding away into the endless night.


	4. Dream a Little Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil shifts between reality and dreams - but some realities are dreams and some dreams are reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back! I had far too much fun writing this chapter which is probably why it has grown as long as it did, but I regret nothing. Who is ready to meet everyone else! I am so excited to finally start including other characters and talking! Actual, proper communication - of a sorts - in this chapter!
> 
> Not to mention, I should probably tell you guys if Virgil is okay or not, so without anymore rambling, here is the next part.

** **

### Dream a Little Dream

** **

Virgil was drifting.

He was warm. Warm and safe, without a care in the world. Dimly, he knew that he should have a care, that something terrible had happened in his recent past and he was meant to be concerned about it. There was something that he had to face, something important. Something that he probably wouldn’t actually like, which was the majority of his life after all. But he was warm. And safe. More than that, he was comfortable, and although that same distant part of him remembered pain, all through his body, he didn’t want to think about it. 

He didn’t want to think about anything other than the warmth, the comfort and his normal levels of anxiety just didn’t seem to actually be kicking in which meant he shouldn’t worry. He couldn’t find it in himself to care, even though he was normally the one who was notorious for worrying and panicking over every tiny little thing. Virgil felt as if he was strangely detached from his own mind, his own body. It would be easy to just remain in the nothing void, to not have to worry about anything ever again. He could just drift casually in this strange world and be at peace. 

No more pain, no more fear, no more panic.

It was a tempting thought. Made more so by the brief slashes of light that would periodically intrude, moments of faces, hands touching, movement, _screams_. Everything moved too fast for Virgil to even start to understand what was happening there. He didn’t know the people, the place, the situation and those moments of disorientation were terrible. They thrust him back into a world he didn’t feel mentally ready for, they filled him with the adrenaline, anxiety and terror that he was otherwise empty of. They made him feel things, made him more aware in those brief flashes how lost and confused he really was.

The screams however, he knew he should recognise, the harsh, rasping tone of them sparking something within his mind. They felt intimately familiar to him, as if he had long been acquaintanced with the melody of those screams. Virgil didn’t want to follow that train of thought though, he didn’t want to see where it would lead him. He didn’t want to think about the noises or images at all in fact. 

Those moments of lucidity just made him long for the darkness more, where he was safe for the first time in his life.

Voices intruded into the darkness that he was floating in, voices that had seemingly chased him from the light. They were soft and loud, smooth and calm. They flickered in and out of his awareness without Virgil actually doing anything to either summon or dismiss them. Gradually however, they grew louder and stayed louder. Virgil found himself listening without meaning to, as though it was strangers having a conversation in another room and he was stuck hovering in the doorway with no choice but to listen. 

_“I wish you were wake up kiddo. I know how much you youngsters like your sleep but we really need to see those pretty eyes of yours for longer than a few seconds.”_

_“It’s okay Padre, he’ll wake up. You’ve done a wonderful job tending to his wounds! Why, I wouldn’t have believed it was the same person Remy dragged in if I hadn’t seen you tend to him with my own eyes. I thought he was a dead man for sure, even with all our help. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”_

_“Aw thank you Roman, that means a lot but... it’s been weeks now. There were moments when even I wondered if he was going to make it and he still is sleeping.”_

_“Well he wakes up briefly for fluids, that has to be a good sign right?”_

_“He screams sometimes when he wakes up as if in pain. I don’t know what else to do for him.”_

_“Pat...”_

_“It’s okay! Like you said Roman, I’m sure he will wake up soon. I’m going to go give an update on his health to Remy, will you sit with him for a bit?”_

_“Of course I will! You go calm down his edginess, I will look after our guest.”_

_“Okay kiddos, I’ll be back soon, play nice.”_

_..._

_“You’re scaring our Dad. I don’t know what you did to make him care so much when all you do is sleep, eat or drink but enough is enough. You need to wake up and now. Do you hear me? Wake up.”_

Virgil opened his eyes.

He was lying on a bed, which was a surprise in itself. It was much larger and much more comfortable than his own, the pillows alone almost as large as his whole body, pale duck egg blue pillows and covers that calmed and reassured him. 

Had he fallen asleep in Dorian’s bed again? 

No, that wasn’t right. Dorian’s bed might be comfortable but he could never imagine the other man having such gentle colours on his bedding. Nor would he have gotten up and left Virgil to sleep alone in peace, that wasn’t his style. On those occasions that he had woken up in his bed it had been to find the other man holding him in an embrace that had felt more suffocating than comforting, something that was a trap. This bed didn’t feel like a trap and anyway, it couldn’t be Dorian’s because... because he had ended that months ago, he had broken off all contact with the other man and tried to rebuild his life without his overwhelming presence. 

Where was he? 

Belatedly, Virgil could start to feel the by now familiar stirrings of worry, as his brain started to wake up. This wasn’t his bed, this wasn’t Dorian’s bed which meant he was somewhere else, somewhere strange and possibly very dangerous. Sunlight was steaming down onto his face, blinding him. He screwed his eyes tightly shut again for a moment but that just made his head hurt all the more as his vision went blood red though his eyelids - blood, there had been something about blood in his past, something he needed to remember but the light was just too bright. 

Then the sun moved, Virgil opening his eyes once more to give a lazy blink as it split into two. One was still the sun coming through a window, shining on the bedding and quite possibly the thing that had woken him up in the first place, but the other was a man. A man whose smile was as bright and as obnoxious as the giant ball of death floating up in the sky. 

“Oh! Hey you're awake!”

Virgil blinked a couple more times, letting those words of wisdom sink in. For a moment he even forgot the building panic and confusion about being in a strange room he had never seen before with a strange man he had never met before, simply focusing on the apparent inane comment. 

“Your grasp of reality is outstanding,” Virgil rasped, coughing a second later and his throat hurt. It felt as though it was on fire suddenly, a burning, scorching ache as his body cried out for water. 

“Why thank you!” The second sun was still grinning, as though he didn’t realise Virgil had been trying to insult him. The man shifted again, collecting a cup of water from the table beside the bed and carefully offering it to Virgil. He tipped it gently, holding the cup for Virgil without a word - only then did Virgil realise he lacked the strength to even lift his arms. 

It was another thing he should be concerned about but the water was just too good. He had never tasted a more delicious drink before, cool and refreshing, soothing Virgil’s parched throat while at the same time making him more aware of how badly he wanted to drink more, his whole body feeling tight, dehydrated and crying out for more drink. Unconsciously, he leaned forward a fraction, trying to take a deeper drink.

“Easy,” cautioned the stranger, tipping it the other way to stop Virgil from taking the long gulps he so badly wanted and Virgil felt like crying at being refused it. Not that he had the energy or fluids spare to cry and even his tear ducts felt drained and tight, Virgil swallowing down a sob of protest. 

“You’ll be sick, small sips. I’m Roman by the way, it is about time you woke up lazy bones.” 

Gently, this Roman character tilted the cup back towards him, letting him take the sips he needed and Virgil could almost forgive him denying him the larger mouthfuls he needed because at least he was getting something and it was blissful. 

There was still something strange going on, something he should be questioning. The who, why, where, how of this situation but it was growing hard to think again, hard to focus on anything else. His body still refused to respond to his commands to move, and even his mouth was struggling to open enough to take in the water. Swallowing was becoming more and more exhausting, as if he was doing some particularly taxing task. 

Virgil’s eyes felt heavy, dragging him back down towards darkness as each blink took longer before he could force his eyes open once more. It didn’t take long for them to slide shut and remain shut, Virgil not even bothering to try and open them once more. Somewhere above him, he heard Roman sigh softly and the gentle clink of the cup being placed back on the side table. 

He slept.

_“Roman informed me he woke up for a longer period than normal. He had to rush off to, he said, and I quote; ‘tell that brooding wonder that he can stop worrying about his precious Virgil because we actually spoke and it was not the earth shattering, life changing event that he implied such contact would be. Oh Logan, would you like some flowers?’ To which, of course, I told him no.”_

_“Thanks Logan. It’s nice to see you down here, you don’t normally pop in to see your old pop. Say, do you know him?”_

_“I have not have the fortune of travelling to the village he undoubtedly came from and so there is no possible way in which I could know him. I am sure he will be a welcome and hopefully useful addition to your group.”_

_“You know you’re part of this group too Logan. All you have to do-”_

_“I am well aware of what I would have to do and I cannot say it appeals to me in the slightest, no matter how it is worded. Nor am I blind to Roman’s attempts to sway me in this matter.”_

_“Well, if you don’t know him, and you’re not interested, then why are you here?”_

_“Considering who he is, I felt it only fitting that I should remain close at hand to try and prevent any undue alarm or stress placed upon him. After all, he was subjected to a terrifying ordeal that you claim your behaviour is meant to eradicate.”_

_“That’s not fair, you know I would never want to harm any of you! I’m sorry I couldn’t go and meet him in person like I do with everyone else, but none of us wanted to hurt him. I would never hurt any of my kiddos, I’d rather die.”_

_“Perhaps not you. Perhaps not deliberately. But we both know harm had come to him and badly. He will feel the consequences of that night for the rest of his life.”_

Virgil opened his eyes. 

The room was darker now, the curtains closed. The light behind it was dimmer, making him think it was later in the day. Assuming it was the same day. He had no idea how long he had slept again, tossed and turning as he slept. The door opened, Virgil watching as a familiar figure entered once more. Virgil rolled his eyes, and of course it would be Roman. Other people lived here, he was sure of it - unless the voices were merely dreams and delusions. 

“Oh it's you again.” 

“You know, most people are rightfully delighted at the knowledge they get to spend some time with me,” Roman replied with a slight little gasp, lifting a hand to press it lightly over his chest in the rough location of his heart. Virgil snorted, instantly regretting it as a wave of pain rolled through him. Virgil couldn’t help but shift a little to try and ease that pain, as if lying on something uncomfortable. It was a mistake, regret tinting his thoughts along with a new level of agony as it felt as though his whole body was suddenly a temple of pain. And he was the prize sacrifice. 

Virgil breathed out through his nose, trying to ride out the agony as it ebbed and flowed within him, gradually swirling away. Only when it had settled down to the dull ache of before did he trust himself to speak, fighting to keep his voice as level as possible.

“Ergo, most people are idiots.” 

Roman made another wounded noise. He certainly was a dramatic one, Virgil watching him with tired eyes as he paced up and down at the side of the bed. 

“Why people like you I don’t know. You just missed Patton, he needed to sleep, you better make sure you tell him how truly grateful you are, he kept you alive after Remy managed to get you here in mostly one piece. Speaking of him, I told you woke up earlier, he was pleased to hear it. You’ve got everyone quite worked up you know. I don’t quite see why, myself.”

Virgil swallowed down the instinctive reaction to apologise. He wasn’t going to apologise, not for something so clearly out of his control, not when he had been the one to be hurt... he had been hurt. That was important, that was something his mind needed to focus on and yet instead it was latching on to a far less important question and refusing to give him any peace until he got an answer. 

“Who is... Remy?” Not to mention, who was Patton, but one question and answer at a time. He was already growing tired again as it was. 

“Remy? Tall, dark, broody. Wears sunglasses because he can? You bit him, ringing any bells? I have to admit, that was brilliant but still... the one who thought it would be a good idea to just bring you right into our home without you passing any of the tests or checks?” 

The... guy who tried to kill me?” Virgil replied slowly and he could remember that now, being tied up and left to die, he remembered cool hands undoing the blindfold and letting him see again. He remembered staring up at the man Roman was describing and expecting to die at his hands. Roman shook his head impatiently. 

“The guy who saved your life. He carried you nearly three miles and somehow managed to make sure you were still breathing by the end of it. You had a lot of help of course, but still... not everyone could survive what you did, so I suppose you are strong if nothing else.”

Virgil was only half paying attention, his mind slowly turning over his memories, examining them and feeling that he was missing something important. He had almost died... it was more than just thinking he was going to die. There had been a lot more to that night in the woods. Virgil shivered, but this time he barely noticed the pain that came with the movement, his mind too caught up in the past. Hand drifted lower, tracing over his stomach, a faint frown on his face as he touched bandages. Virgil remembered now. He remembered panicking, remembered running, fighting, falling. He remembered the feeling of a branch piercing his body. His heart started to race as his mind seriously started to question what was going on. Who was Roman? 

“Whoa, calm down there.” 

He wasn’t listening at all now, his panic and heart rate only rising. It was all very well for Roman to stay that not everyone could have survived but he had the distinct feeling that nobody was supposed to survive something like that. Especially once you had been pulled off the wood and he should have bled out if nothing else. The conclusion was inescapable. He should be dead. 

“Why aren’t I dead... wait, am I dead?”

“Oh come now once upon a gloom, would someone like me be here if you were dead?” 

Virgil squinted a little at him, truly taking him in for the first time. This Roman was almost glowing - except he wasn’t glowing in the way that the stranger in the woods had glowed, there was no golden aura to his eyes as they darted this way and that, examining the room with apparent interest. He had lighter hair than Remy, a richer brown that bordered on red, something bright and brilliant. Virgil hadn't stood next to him yet but he was sure he would be taller, Roman seemed to have that kind of presence, the ability to loom over people regardless.

He couldn’t help but notice that Roman hadn’t actually answered his question. He also couldn't help but notice how he couldn’t meet his gaze any longer, when moments before he had been staring at him with a bright, almost ernest expression, eyes wide with the need to make him believe what he was saying and that was setting all manner of alarm bells off in his mind. His arms dropped back down to his side, worn out by the simple movement. 

“Right....” Virgil said slowly, feeling his suspicious nature really start to kick in. “So what you’re saying is I’m dead and in Hell.” 

Roman made an offended noise, something between a gasp and a snort, something obnoxious and overly dramatic. Virgil had known him for the length of one conversation and he already felt that the sound suited the ridiculous man perfectly. 

“Well aren’t you a rude one!”

Virgil wanted to argue the point, to question him further, but he was feeling too tired again. His eyes once more felt as though there were weights on his eyelids, dragging them down and keeping them shut.

He slept.

_“You know, you don’t have to keep sneaking in here in the middle of the night Remy. Virgil still spends most of his time sleeping as he recovers so I doubt you would disturb him and if you want to catch him awake, as you should, you would have better luck trying during the day.”_

_“How did you know I was coming down at night? You were always asleep, I made sure of it.”_

_“Dad powers kiddo.”_

_“You are a sweetheart, you know I’m older than you, not your kiddo.”_

_“You will still always be my kiddo. Now, back to my original question. Why don’t you come and visit when he is likely to be awake? You two should talk and it isn't setting a good example, you hiding away from him. Not after... not after what happened.”_

_“I doubt he will want to see me anytime soon Patton. Not after what I did to him... you should have heard his heart, he was so scared and it was all my fault. I pretty much messed up big time.”_

_“It doesn’t matter what he wants, you have to do what is right, for him, for you, for this family.”_

_“I know.”_

Virgil opened his eyes.

There was someone new by his bed, Virgil giving a start of surprise at the sight of this newcomer. His body actually responded to his thoughts this time, trying to twist and turn away in shock only for his stomach to scream in protest, skin feeling as though it was ripping apart. Not to mention, his ribs felt as though he thrown against some steel bars a number of times and a wave of nausea rose up in him, Virgil swallowing heavily in a bid to stop himself from throwing up right there and then.

“Oh, careful!” The newest stranger pressed his hands against Virgil’s shoulders, effortlessly pushing him back against the bed, Virgil lacking the strength to so much as make a token effort of protest at the action. All he could do was groan, body going limp once more and it seemed as though he wasn’t getting out of the bed anytime soon. “You’re going to undo all my hard work and we don’t want that, now do we?”

No matter how it sounded as though it was phrased as a question. Virgil had a feeling it was anything but. There was something about the man’s voice that made him want to liste, despite having no clue who he actually was. Virgil closed his eyes for a second, taking the time to make sure the feeling of sickness had passed and wasn’t going to come back anytime soon. He might not know what was going on but he knew enough to know that he didn’t want to throw up over the bed or the stranger. Who knew how he would react to that.

Slowly, he opened them once more, staring at the other man. Like Roman before him, this one was a walking ball of sunshine. But where Roman had seemed like the scorching rays of the sun on an already hot day, this man felt more like the gentle warmth of a softer summer day. Blond hair fell over the other man’s face, half covering his glasses and hiding his eyes from view. If nothing else,Virgil could understand that desire at least - the main reason he had grown his hair slightly longer than most was so that he could sweep it over his forehead and hide away from the world. He took a step back now that Virgil was no longer trying to move, lifting an arm to attempt to brush some of his hair from his glasses. Attempt being the key word, strands simply falling back into place. With a sheepish smile, the man just shrugged, tucking his hand down into the oversized shirt he was wearing, fingers curling around the cuff. This man was comforting without being overpowering and despite everything, Virgil found himself wanting to trust that smile sent his way, just as he had wanted to listen to him when told to do something. 

“Hello kiddo! My name is Patton, I’m so sorry I couldn’t greet you at the time but welcome, welcome to your new home!”

“New... home...” Virgil parroted back, a feeling of dread starting to form in the pit of his stomach, easily swamping that comfort that he had gained from Patton. This wasn’t his home. He didn’t have a home anymore, not thanks to the lottery. Even if he did, it wouldn’t be here, surrounded by strange and somewhat insane people. Some of the haze had lifted since the last time he had woken up, perhaps shook clear by the pain. He wasn’t meant to be here - wherever here was. 

Fear struck him, no longer the fear that he might be dead, but rather the fear that he might be alive. 

Okay, so wasn’t how he had pictured the monster in the woods, but his mother had always told him that evil came in many guises. Who was to say that a bubbly, blond, friendly looking young man wasn’t one of them? Who was to say that this wasn’t some trick or trap designed to ensnare him and make him lower his guard so that they could do whatever it was they wanted to do? Clearly death wasn’t their aim, because they had gone to such efforts to keep him alive but that didn’t reassure Virgil. He knew only too well that there were far worse things than death to be worried about. 

“What is going on? In general, in this whole world, what on earth is going on? Where am I? Who are you?” Virgil asked, his voice becoming softer as he spoke, trying not to anger Patton. The smiling ones were always the worse - or did he just think that because Dorian was always cruel with a sharp and cold smile? 

It was a perfectly logical set of questions really, so he couldn’t understand why Patton froze and stared at him or why he seemed so uncomfortable with talking about that. He didn’t get angry at least, Virgil trying to hold onto anything positive in this frightening new world. It was hard when he didn’t really know anything about this world he had been thrust into, didn’t know anything about the man who lifted a hand once more to try and brush some hair from his own face, the long sleeve as useless as ever. 

“You’re home Virgil,” Patton repeated, an earnest look on his face. That wasn’t an answer, not to any of his questions, not even in general. 

“This isn’t my home,” he snapped, and he tried not to cry at that, tried to ignore the hot, angry tears that were already leaking from his eyes and slipping down his cheeks. Angry tears at this situation, angry tears at the fact his family, his friends, everyone he had ever known had all turned their backs on him and left him to die only for a complete stranger to then turn around and act as though he had found a safe haven, as though Patton wanted to do more for him than his own mother had. 

As if he could trust those words. As if he could trust anyone or anything, ever again. 

Virgil tried to move again, needing to get out of this bed and put some distance between himself and Patton so he could think, so he could try and work out what he was going to do next. He managed a whole half turn onto his side before the agony exploded all over his body and mind, locking him in place and making it impossible to breath for several long, agonizing seconds. It was a relief when the pain finally eased up a fraction, just enough for him to fall back against the pillows with a strangled whimper, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead and oh, he had somehow forgotten how bad the pain was, as though his mind had been trying to hide that information from him for his own good.

Instantly, Patton was pressing him back onto the bed, a worried look in pale eyes. It was the first time he had been able to see them and he was surprised they were such a dark brown, barely any colour separate from the black of the pupil at all. He wasn’t sure why, but he had expected them to be as warm as his smile. Or maybe he had been expecting golden ones like Remy had in his dreams sometimes. 

“Here, this will help the pain,” Patton told him, guiding the cup to his lips and gently encouraging him to take a sip. Normally, Virgil would have pushed it away, would have been far too untrusting to risk swallowing a strange liquid, no matter how sweet the other man seemed. But his throat was sore still, aching and the talking had only made it worse. Virgil could remember the wonderful way in which the water had eased his pain and that had only been water. Patton promised that this would help and really, he couldn’t be any worse off than he already was. If they planned to kill him, they were doing a terrible job of it. Begrudgingly he opened his mouth, swallowing the slightly sweet, milky like substance. 

“Back to my questions... please, Patton, who are you people? What do you want from me?” 

_‘What are you going to do to me’_ , was the question that Virgil wanted to asked but lacked the courage to do so. They had to have something planned for him and it was that unknown something that had all his nerves screaming, waiting for the blow to finally land. Patton sighed, fidgeting slightly before settling on the bed near his feet.

“Look kiddo, this really isn’t the time... it isn’t my place to discuss what happened, but how about this, I will keep talking, about a nice flower I saw this morning growing just outside. Then I will answer your questions ok? It had purple petals which reminded me of your clothes, a lovely rich dark purple. I wanted to pick it to show you but it seems wasteful to pick it when hopefully you will be well enough to come outside and see it for yourself soon.” 

It was getting increasingly hard to focus on what Patton was saying, sleep tugging at him, begging for him to just sink back down into the comfort of the bed and let darkness take him once more, just for a little while. Virgil didn’t want to fall asleep again, he didn’t want to get lost once more. There were answers here, he was on the cusp of learning something and Patton couldn’t talk about a flower for ever. Eventually, he had to stop talking about it and when he did that, he would finally learn the truth. 

Eyelids closed of their own accord, Virgil forcing them back open a moment later. Patton was staring at him. He had stopped talking about the flower but he hadn’t started talking and sharing the answers like he had promised. 

He seemed to be waiting for something. He... he was waiting. He was waiting for Virgil to fall asleep wasn’t he. He was counting on him falling asleep so that he wouldn’t have to tell him whatever terrible thing he was destined for. How could he know that Virgil would grow tired at the right time however? How could he have judged when it would be safe to stop talking, when Virgil’s body would start to crave rest once more?

The... the drink. It had to have been more than pain relief, something that would drag him under. There also had to have been something in his face that betrayed his thoughts because Patton suddenly flinched, curling himself into a smaller ball. Even that was getting harder to see though, his eyelids shutting once more. It took a supreme effort to force them back open once more, Patton still looking so very guilty. He had tricked him.

“Sorry Kiddo,” Patton whispered hoarsely, looking away a moment later. He started to say something else, but Virgil couldn’t focus on the sounds at all anymore, his eyes sliding shut and this time, staying shut.

He slept.

_“I’m just saying, it’s one rule for you and another for everyone else, it's not fair!”_

_“What did you want me to do Prince, leave him to die?”_

_“No, of course not, but you don’t know anything about him! He might not be worthy of the gift you so freely gave, it's not like you can change your mind and take it back off him. What if he is like the rest of his kind? Humans cannot be trusted!”_

_“Really? You counting your own pet human in that? I thought you liked Mr Serious.”_

_“Oh he’s not like the other humans.”_

_“Neither is Virgil. Trust me Prince dude, he is worthy enough. You should have seen the fight he put up, he deserved the chance and I had to make the choice.”_

_“That’s just it. You made the choice for all of us, you know what the risk can be. Who do you think you are-”_

_“You know exactly who I am sugar-cakes and don’t you forget it. Don’t think for a second that I would risk any harm to our family for anyone. I did what I thought was best... now, do you mean to challenge me officially about it?”_

_“I didn’t mean... it’s just... you did it! Why can’t I?”_

_“You know why Roman. It was a different situation for a start, I had a choice sure, but there wasn’t much of one. Anyway, I don’t think Virgil will ever forgive me, that's not what I want for you and Serious.”_

_“It's still not fair.”_

_“Things rarely are.”_

Virgil opened his eyes.

He felt a lot better this time, his body still aching but it felt more like the ache after a hard day in the fields rather than the agony that had always been lurking in the back of his mind every other time he had woken up. His body almost felt as though it might not break apart upon moving, although he didn’t feel brave enough to test that theory. At least, not this very second. It hadn’t hurt last time either, not until it was too late and he was drowning in agony. 

For now, he simply enjoyed the lack of any real pain, enjoyed the way his mind felt clearer, sharp without pain, aware without anything else hurting him. Virgil almost felt normal, as though the whole thing had simply been a series of fever dreams and he had never been chosen, never been dragged into the woods, never fought and kicked his way to a death by falling and impaling. 

Except that he had. He knew that he had. He knew that he should be dead and that no amount of medicine and care could possibly have saved him. Virgil felt strangely calm considering he had just worked out he was meant to be dead. Or maybe it just hadn’t sunk in yet, because despite what he knew, he couldn’t reconcile that with the fact that he wasn’t dead and one of those two things had to be wrong. Virgil just didn’t know which yet.

Eyes swept the room, finally taking in the rest of the room. Yet another stranger was here with him, another man and another one wearing glasses. He looked far more solemn than the previous visitors to his little room, his face pinched into a slight frown as he stared down at the thick book in his hands. He appeared to be completely oblivious to Virgil being awake as he turned a page, lost in whatever he was reading. 

Hand shifted a little, moving over covers to press lightly against his side, gingerly testing the area. It was tender to the touch but not nearly as painful as he would have expected. The movement, as brief as it was, drew the attention of the man seated beside him, eyes lifting from the book. 

“Ah, you are back with us. I will inform Patton you are awake once more, he will be pleased to hear it no doubt.” 

“No, please! Don’t call Patton.” The last thing Virgil wanted was for Patton to come in here and quite possibly drug him again. He couldn’t go back to sleep, couldn’t handle this awful limbo any longer and now he had no reason to trust that the blond wouldn’t just send him back to oblivion because it wasn’t time yet or whatever. Who was he to judge, to make those kind of choices about Virgil?

According to Roman, it was mostly thanks to Patton he was even alive in the first place, but that still didn’t give him the right to put him to sleep anytime he chose simply because he didn’t like the topic of conversation. 

“I... very well.” The man looked uncomfortable at the idea he would have to remain here with him and Virgil wasn’t sure if that was because he had to talk to him or because he had hoped Patton would send him back to sleep. They all seemed very keen on making sure he didn’t wake up alone, always someone on hand and it made him even more suspicious, more determined to learn whatever it was that they seemed equally determined to hide from him. 

“Are you capable of talking in straight sentences unlike everyone else in this place?” Virgil asked, carefully easing himself up into some kind of sitting position. His muscles protested at the movement, the wound in his stomach tugging uncomfortably, but that was all it was. A strong discomfort instead of outright agony, and although he had no idea how long he had been asleep, it still felt... wrong somehow. This wasn’t normal and he shouldn't feel this good, this strong as though he was healthy.

“Ah, you have been talking to Roman I see.” There was a hint of a smile on the other man’s face before he cleared his throat, hand lifting to absentmindedly adjust his glasses. “I shall do my best. My name is Logan, I am well aware you were this years... victim of the inane tradition our villages persist in repeating without any regard for reason.”

“Our villages?” Virgil questioned, leaning forward slightly and finally, finally, here was someone who seemed willing to talk to him about the things that mattered, who didn’t dance in and out of his awareness. Here finally was the answers he had been searching so hard for.

Logan nodded and even his nod came across as serious. 

“I was selected last year, it seems the village elders did not welcome my questioning their logic in throwing innocent people into the woods to die when there was no evidence that it either did any good nor that such behaviour was what the mysterious beasts in the woods desired. Perhaps it was coincidence that I was then selected to be the next sacrifice but I somehow doubt it.” 

“Sounds rough,” Virgil replied after a few moments, when it became clear, even to him, that Logan was waiting for him to answer. So it wasn’t just his village that apparently had a corrupt system in place for choosing the people to die. What a terrible - and in its own way clever - way of getting rid of the unwanted elements of their group. Legal murder. 

Only it wasn’t murder, because he wasn’t dead and neither was Logan. Logan who had apparently been marked for death a year ago now and yet was still going strong. Logan who had grown up in one of the other little villages that were scattered along the edges of the wood, the people using a rotating system to keep it ‘fair’. Logan who understood exactly what it had been like to have everyone you ever knew and loved turn their backs on you and abandon you without a second thought. Logan who was talking once more.

“I was right of course, but such knowledge hardly helped me or the village I had once called home. We are not welcome there and although I have been looking forward to meeting the next person they threw in here, I have to admit at the same time I had hoped to find some end to this torture. These werewolves do not mean us harm in the way that our villages subscribed to and in fact appear rather displeased at the number of humans that are being deposited in what they consider their packs home and prime territory.”

A high pitched whine started in his ears, Virgil staring at Logan as he continued to talk, his mouth moving but he could no longer make out any of the words. Virgil lifted his hands sharply, the movement enough to stop Logan talking, his mouth snapping shut. 

“Whoa, whoa, what?” 

He wished he was sleeping again, but somehow, Virgil knew this was reality. An uncomfortable, aching reality that was not the thunderbolt of pain from before but instead a bolt of confusion. Try as he might wish to believe otherwise, he knew that this was all real and that Logan really had said... had called them... he had said they were - 

“Werewolves,” Logan repeated a deeper frown on his face, as though he was being forced to repeat something blindingly obvious. It was all very well for Logan to act as though this was something normal. Maybe even for him it was, but werewolves were not normal. Virgil had always believed in the old ways, in the magic although he had never seen any proof that he had been right. 

It was one of the few things he and Dorian had had in common, a belief in something beyond what they could see and touch. A belief in charms and wards, in words of power that could protect or damage. Not that you could build any kind of relationship out of a connection like that. Not that he had ever wanted to. It was still another thing to believe, to hope and then to be sat in a strange bed, in a strange room with a very strange series of people passing in front of him and learn that everything he had thought and dreamed of, had been real after all. He felt as though his whole body and mind was stuck, frozen in this single moment of time. 

“I... I assumed you already knew. You had woken up several times before, although I realise you had often been in the company of Roman at the time and he is not exactly the easiest person in the world to understand. Still, Remy must have told you before you made the choice, otherwise how could you have made it?”

Logan paused, staring at him and something akin to understanding swept across his features, blending with a growing horror. Virgil felt the bottom of his stomach drop away as he sat there, wondering just what choice he had apparently made.

“He... did ask didn't he?”

Virgil simply stared at him, mouth still dropped open, the high pitched whine crackling around in his head and making it hard to focus on Logan himself. Werewolves. The monster in the wood... was an actual monster. Actual monsters. There were actual monsters and he had been saved by them. Not only that but apparently he had made some choice regarding them.

“What... what choice?” Virgil finally croaked out, even though a large part of him didn’t want to know. He had to know though, he had to understand what had happened to him, had to put all the pieces of the puzzle together to make the picture, no matter how terrible it turned out to be. 

Logan's expression slackened a little, becoming almost unbearably gentle and that was somehow worse than any scowl or frown. It was nothing else but pity and it brought a cold shiver down Virgil’s spine as he watched Logan open his mouth, his next words simply destroying everything and changing his world view forever. 

“Virgil... Remy turned you. You're a werewolf now.”


	5. Through Golden Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Truth has many points of view. Virgil’s version is one. Remy’s is quite another._
> 
> _What really did happen in the woods that night?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, welcome back! This... is not the chapter I sat down to write. But we all know the boys are little chaotic demons, Remy most of all and he insisted that he was going to do things his way and that was the end of it. So what was supposed to be a little thing became a whole chapter and I had to push my plans back a chapter. 
> 
> This is also my first attempt at writing from Remy’s PoV so we shall see how it goes. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos feed my soul, you guys are really too kind to me and knowing that you are still reading and coming along on this ride with me has meant the world to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

** **

### Through Golden Eyes

** **

_A few weeks earlier..._

The rain was getting worse, Remy giving a huff as he finally gave in and pushed his glasses up and off his face. It was impossible, even for him, to wear them in this weather and still see what was going on, the drops simply too large and frequent. Being deprived of his glasses only added to his already bad mood as he stomped through the forest, barely making an effort to be quiet. He wasn’t in the mood for quiet, not when he had to go fetch a stupid human from where his stupid village had left him to die in a stupid, stupid manner. 

Remy didn’t like doing this job. It wasn’t his job and one of the perks of being in charge was that normally, he got to avoid doing things that he wasn’t suited for. He knew exactly what he was good for and helping humans was nowhere on that list. He didn’t have time for that kind of thing. He was meant to look at the big picture, to strut around with a cup of his perfectly blended drink and look rather cool while doing it. It was his job to float through scenes and appear unconnected to everything. To allow the world at large to completely underestimate him. 

It was also his job to make the hardest choices, the ones he would never place on the shoulders of his family. It was up to him to decide which humans were trusted into the actual small village the pack themselves lived in - a mistake could lead to a death, if he let an angry human in. It didn’t matter if the death was human or werewolf, it was still a life that would weigh on his soul. 

Just slightly less if it was a human. 

Remy was the one who had been forced over the years to make all the hard decisions, because that was what he was. It came with his role, his desire to protect. He had killed before, and he knew he would kill again, would fight tooth and claw, and drown the whole forest in blood if it meant keeping those he considered Pack and thus family safe. He was tainted by that association, by what he had to do to make sure others were kept innocent. He wasn’t the right person to go and collect a human from the woods and so when the scouts reported that another human had been left as a twisted tribute, it hadn’t occurred to Remy that he was going to have to go himself. 

This was meant to be Patton’s role. Patton was good at this, Patton was warm and nurturing and knew all the right things to say to scared little humans in order to make the whole thing as painless as possible. Patton understood how they felt, how to empathise with them without touching too deeply on his own pain. In that respect - as indeed, in so many others - Patton was the better wolf than him. Remy had his own trauma to deal with, his own issues and the idea of having to face someone like that just cut a little too close to bone for his liking. 

Even when they cried and begged for their lives, Patton was able to calm them - he hated it when they begged, as if he was some blood thirsty savage that couldn’t wait to cut them open and gut them in some horrible, bloody fashion. It didn’t matter that it was all the lies that their heads had been filled with, that in many cases some had been told just that, he still hated it when they cried. He could never comfort them like Patton was able to.

Remy normally just made them cry harder. 

Patton was stuck on the other side of the forest though, dealing with some human drama that Remy loved hearing about. 

He enjoyed it all and if he could, he delighted in getting involved in the human drama, gleefully relaying information as needed. It was all so tiny, so wonderful and it distracted him from the more stressful, unpleasant aspects of his life. When he was caught up in whatever not important issue a human had, he could just be Remy again. It was normally so delicious to hear about, to laugh along with, but today it had required the presence of the father figure of the pack, and the comfort that only he could provide. Which meant someone else had to go and deal with the other human problem.

Sometimes, Remy felt as though the humans were more trouble than they were wor- no, no he didn’t. That was what the other humans thought, the ones who persisted in this ridiculous fantasy of believing the wolves desired tribute in the form of lives.

All they really wanted was to be left alone, left in peace in the wood that they called home. Remy wasn’t naive enough to believe that they could co-exist together, not in any large numbers. The balance they had here was something they all worked hard to maintain and every time a new human was added to the mix, there was the worry that this was the one who would cause issues and break the peace. Every time a human left, he felt the same way and it gave him a headache. 

He still had to work out who to send. Nobody was any good at this, at allying human fears, Remy trying - and failing - to think of someone safe to send. Even if he could convince Roman to stop mooning over his human for long enough, he would probably terrify the newcomer too. The others were just as bad in their own way and shouldn’t have to deal with that.

He had better hear every little detail from Patton once he came back. Remy deserved every juicy fact for having to deal with a human, his foul mood increasing at the realisation that it was going to have to be him. That was the other part of his job - doing the things nobody else should have to handle. 

At first, Remy had wanted to wait. What was an extra night in the forest for one human? Maybe, if he was lucky, it wouldn’t take long for Patton to finish cleaning up whatever mess he needed to and he could be back potentially as early as tomorrow. Patton would no doubt tell him off for leaving the human, but it wasn’t like a few hours longer there would kill them or anything. 

He should have known better than to trust to luck. 

Remy had waited, right up until it started to rain, and rain, and rain. He watched it from his window, frowning as it grew ever heavier until even he struggled to see through it. 

A human wouldn’t survive a single night in such a storm. 

Which was why he was moving through the woods with less than his customary grace, glaring at each tree as though it had personally offended him. It didn’t take long to reach the clearing where the human was, and they were so limited in imagination, they always left them in the same place as though there was only one possible place in the whole of the forest where they could possibly find a lone human.

His mood dipped drastically when he finally reached the clearing and saw for himself exactly what they had done to this years victim. 

Blindfolded, gagged, his wrists tied together and then the rope wound around the tree so that he could barely move. He looked so small huddled against the tree, soaked to the skin by the heavy rain. Not small in the way Remy often thought of humans as, not limited by themselves, and their narrow minded thoughts. Small, as if he had been unjustly pressed that way and never given the chance to blossom as he deserved and now he was hunched over waiting to die. 

The humans did this to their own kind, Remy swallowing down a snarl of anger with great difficulty. He could feel his wolf start to pace and snarl inside of his mind, working itself up to some kind of maddened frenzy. Or at least attempting to, but Remy was not some young pup. He knew himself, just as he knew his other half and he wasn’t going to lose control so easily. Even if he was furious at what he was seeing. 

The other reason why he hated having to do this job. It made his rage ignite, his wolf prowling in his mind and easily coming to the surface. Remy had never been able to understand the logic of the humans, how they seemed willing to give up their own young - some had been little more than children and it had taken everything in him not to go out there and raze every pathetic hut to the ground at the sight of them.

There had been times when he had been forced to... deal with a pack member in a permanent fashion but it had never been treated as sport and it had never been cruel or slow. 

It had never been like this, some craven, crawling attempt to please an apparent monster in the woods, just to save their own miserable skin. The anger was still burning in him as he started to approach and although it was under control for now, as much as he hoped otherwise he couldn’t be confident it would stay that way. Even the most experienced lost control now and then. 

He had never understood humans. They were so ready to throw their young to the wolves - literally in this case. As if they didn’t care what happened to their children so long as they survived.

The young man seemed so scared as he huddled there and really, how could Remy blame him? For all that he felt annoyed and hurt by their fear, he knew it was well founded, that they of course believed everything they had been told. Why wouldn’t they? Remy saw it to it that none of the victims ever returned and without their stories as to what they were really like, of course they would assume the worse. He knew he was right to keep them away from those villages, he knew he was protecting those on his land. It was the best thing for them.

It was still hard to remind himself of that when faced with the reality of this moment.

Remy drew in a shaking, shallow breath as he tried to calm his wolf, calm himself. The humans that were thrown into the wood to die came under his protection and while he wouldn’t go so far as to consider them his pack, they certainly came close. Which meant this man was under his protection and his wolf hated the idea that he had been hurt. It didn’t matter that the hurt had happened before the mental claim had been made, there had still been an injury done to him and Remy hated that. 

He crouched, reaching out to start to undo the knots, mind spinning furiously as he attempted to work out what to say. What _could_ you say to someone like that. 

‘Hey Gurl, I’m Remy, I’m your hero in a trenchcoat, so move your cute behind and lets get out of this storm before we all catch our death of cold, and I’ll explain everything inside?” 

Yeah, as if that would work. He still didn’t know what Patton did, the other wolf just had that knack, that talent. He didn’t say anything special, not really, but there was something about the way he said it, something in his voice that made them trust him. 

Without Patton, Remy was going off pure guesswork. He reached out, fingers brushing against the man’s cheek, almost fascinated by the reaction, the sharp intake of breath he could hear even through the gag. It took him a couple of moments of fumbling with the knot before it finally gave way. Blindfold dropped away, Remy staring into blue eyes that were so pale they seemed almost grey, long eyelashes blinking rapidly in an attempt to see through the rain. He gazed deep into eyes that were strangely captivating, something about them making his wolf almost... calm. As if it was pleased to have those eyes looking at him and wanted them to keep doing that. 

“Virgil,” the stranger told him. That... wasn’t what he had expected his first word to be. Normally they would be crying by now, would be on their knees begging for their lives. Not saying a name as though that was supposed to mean something to him and Remy took a step back trying to work out what it all meant. Still, the young man didn’t beg. This was almost a refreshing change. 

“My name... is Virgil. When you kill me, I want to be Virgil.”

His wolf howled at that, surging up violently in the front of his mind with no more care about being calm, about having those beautiful eyes on him. The hints of a good mood were destroyed as his anger flared up in tandem with it, Remy breathing through his nose as he tried to keep it contained and no, he refused to give in just because the human was relatively pretty and he had been feeling more sentimental than normal. This... Virgil wasn’t the first human to think that he was going to die because of Remy, so why should he care?

Except he did.

Badly. He cared that Virgil had such a warped view of him, he cared that he was clearly so very afraid of him and that wasn’t what he wanted, no sir. Not from Virgil and Remy didn’t even know why. He didn’t trust himself to speak, not when his wolf was pacing so restlessly inside his mind. Any words would come with snarls and growling. Any sound like that would only give his other side more control and in this moment that felt like the worse idea possible. A growl would only scare the cutie on the ground even further, which was the last thing he wanted. 

Remy couldn’t understand why his wolf was so active. It wasn’t the full moon for over a week and none of his own were in any sort of harm. There was no reason for his other side to be pressing forward as hard as it was, trying to overwhelm the more reasonable, calculated aspects of his mind. It didn’t seem to care that they had done this dance before, it was acting as though this was the first time, as though this Virgil was something special, something to be treasured. 

He swallowed down the noises that wanted to slip free, pulling his knife out and Remy had to get them out of this storm. The rain was getting worse, and it was making undoing the knots a pain. With his wolf as anxious and as worked up as it was, every second out here felt like an eternity and all Remy wanted was to get them both inside. 

Well, it wasn’t all he wanted, but it was all that he was sure he wanted, all he was ready to think about wanting. Once they were inside, warm and dry, once Patton had returned home and talked to Virgil, explained everything, maybe Remy could think about the other things. Maybe he could have a conversation with Virgil too and he could work out just what it was about this new cutie that had him all worked up.

Maybe he was getting far too ahead of his own sweet self and that was why what happened, did. Maybe it was the wolf that had him off balance, distracted and not as fast as he would have liked. Maybe it was still those eyes that were staring at him in confusion and mistrust sprinkled in with the fear. Whatever it was, it meant that Remy didn’t react as he should and was knocked down by the sudden lunging attack, sending him flailing into the mud.

Knife flew off into the distance but Remy hardly cared about that, not when he could feel his glasses go flying off his head as well, landing with a wet sound. 

How _dare!_

Those were his glasses, his babies and after the flesh and blood of his pack the most important thing in the world to him and Virgil just sent them flying like they were nothing? Remy has changed his mind. It doesn’t matter what his wolf might think or how cute Virgil is, the boy was a menace and he is certainly not going to talk to him or spend any amount of time with him at all. Rem is going to physically drag him home if he has to and then he is never seeing the little rat again.

With a grunt, Remy forced himself onto his hands and knees, searching desperately around in the wet mud and grass, his focus on that and that alone. After a couple of moments of frantic searching, his hand finally closed around his glasses, tugging them out of the mud. He looked up just in time to see a blur of purple vanish in between the trees, Virgil running surprisingly fast. It was amazing what adrenaline could do to the body and he could feel his own start to pump through his body, a jolt of fear at what could happen to a human alone in the woods on a night like this.

The knife was left abandoned in the mud. He could retrieve it later, it wasn’t as though the blade held any sentimental value and it certainly wasn’t as important as catching up to Virgil as quickly as he could. Promises made moments ago were forgotten, promises that were nothing more than lies being discarded in the mud and he had to find Virgil, had to protect him. Even the insult against his shades were forgotten in the grander scheme of Virgil being in danger.

He scrambled back to his feet, crossing the small clearing in only a few paces, almost leaping as he raced along the track, trying to catch any hint of Virgil’s scent.

What if he got lost? Worst, what if he managed to find his way back to his village and Remy had very few rules about... well, anything really. Those few that he did have, he was strict about enforcing because those were aimed at keeping his pack, his family safe. The humans could never go back to the home that had abandoned them, he wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t risk it. Who knew what they would do if their murder victims stumbled back out of the woods and no, he couldn’t allow that to happen. They were part of the humans who belonged to him, and he wouldn’t let them get hurt. They might not be pack, just as Virgil wasn’t pack, but he would still do everything he could to protect them. Which meant he had to find him and fast.

_Pack!_ His wolf disagreed, howling loudly in his mind as he ran, following the faint traces through the trees, ducking and weaving past low lying branches and upturned roots. 

That... was also not what he expected. Wolves were pack. Humans were not pack and he knew that. Nobody better than him knew that little nugget of joy and yet a couple of shy and scared glances seemed to have tossed all of that right out of the window. For his wolf to have claimed the human so quickly was unheard of. Remy thought of all the humans he had known over his long life, thought of the ones that had passed through quickly and those that had lingered. 

He could count the number of humans he had liked out of the total, without running out of fingers. One of which was the serious young man they had saved last year, the human his friend had taken one look at and turned into a simpering mess about. There was something about Logan that Remy couldn’t help but like strangely, no matter how much he annoyed him at the same time. The way he never failed to put Roman in his place and how funny every interaction he was lucky enough to see probably had a lot to do with it. 

Still, even Logan was only on the margins of what he considered pack, and he had known him for a year now. He had known Virgil for the grand total of three minutes and most of that was spent either silently staring at him or being attacked by him. Neither of which made for the start of a good friendship.

It seemed as though tonight was full of surprises. 

Virgil suddenly appeared out of the rain in front of him, climbing to his feet after an apparent tumble to the ground, Remy feeling his wolf calm a little at having Virgil within his sights once more and so safe. He lunged forward, catching him before the human could start to run again, drawing him back instantly against his chest, trying to pin him as quickly as he could.

As expected, Virgil instantly began to struggle, kicking and flailing in his grip, and while none of his attacks actually do any damage to him, they are still enough to keep him from getting a proper grip on him and so they squirmed together. It made his wolf whine to see Virgil struggle so uselessly, unhappy with the thought of Virgil being upset, being scared of him. Remy clamped a hand over Virgil’s mouth to at least stop the cries and his wolf hated that sound, hated knowing how badly he was hurting his Virgil.

_His_ Virgil? When had his wolf decided _that_? And so strongly too? Remy was still trying to work out why his wolf had claimed Virgil as pack, and now it had gone one step further and had claimed him completely. Not that he was anywhere close to be able to do that because he still hadn’t had the chance to so much as say his own name. Not that his wolf cared about such trifling details as that. It’s thoughts were based on instinct, on want, desire, nothing logical or sensible about them. It didn’t care that a conversation needed to be had first before they could even come close to something like that. It didn’t care that Remy himself wasn’t even sure if he wanted to claim Virgil. Or if Virgil wanted to be claimed in turn and he was very well aware of how creepy his thoughts were trying to turn. 

He didn’t even know Virgil, so he really needed his wolf to chill out before he ended up doing something they would all regret in the morning. It was a shame that his wolf seemed determined to ignore the message, twisting and turning in his mind, straining at the control decades of experience had given him. It was much more concerned with making the noise stop, with making the fear and the pounding heart, a booming drum beat that seemed to echo around the trees, louder in his ears than even the rain.

Remy needed Virgil to _calm down_ , he needed him to be still, to just listen to what he had to say and surely it had never been this hard to convince a human before to at least listen? Why couldn’t Virgil just listen to him? His wolf was howling, screaming in his mind about how this was wrong, how the human was so very scared, his human, his Virgil, his, his hi-

And then, his Virgil bit him. 

In his shock, Remy felt his grip slacken, enough for Virgil to stumble free, staring down at his hand and the slow trickle of blood that was lazily making its way down his palm. Eyes flickered back up, for a moment just staring after Virgil as he fled once more, frozen in place. He had... bitten him. A human! Had bitten him! 

Lips curled into a smile despite the faint throbbing pain in his hand and it seemed as though his cutie was a little wildcat, unwilling to give in without fighting to the end. Remy tried to imagine any of the other humans being brave or bold enough to bite their way to freedom. He tried to image them attacking not once, but twice, refusing to do as they were told and trusting whatever it was their instincts were telling them and right now Virgil’s instincts were screaming that he needed to get away from here. In all honesty, Remy couldn’t really blame Virgil even now. 

It was rather wolf like of Virgil, to fight in such a brutal manner and he felt his admiration for the young human increase. There really had never been anyone like Virgil in his woods before, and Remy couldn’t wait to end this hunt, to take him home and introduce him to everyone. He wanted to know what he would make of Patton, how he would trade verbal blows with Roman and if he could understand Logan. He wanted to get to know him, Remy’s mind busy with all the possibilities of the future. 

A strangled cry of fear drifted through the rain towards him, the smile vanishing from his features as though it had been slapped off, and for one long, terrible moment, he felt rooted to the spot, frozen in place and unable to breathe. 

Virgil! 

With a gasp, he set off again, darting through the trees as fast as he could now, following hints of a scent that was now mingled with blood, his wolf becoming increasingly maddened as a result. The ground dropped away in front of him, Remy almost flinging himself over the side. He wobbled dangerously, arms trying to balance himself before he took a step back from the edge, squinting down at the forest floor. Below, through the rain, he could just make out the form of Virgil lying flat on his back, something dark and bloody sticking up through his side, Remy feeling his stomach drop as rapidly as Virgil must have fallen.

No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. Remy half ran, half scrambled his way down the embankment, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste and if it hadn’t been for his enhanced agility of his wolf, he knows he would have fallen head over heels by now and landed god knows where. 

Virgil was... _laughing?_ Why on earth was Virgil laughing? The painful wheezing filled the air around him, Remy barely aware of the rain as it slowly started to fade away, the youthful looking wolf dropping down to his knees beside him. 

“Just keep breathing... everything is going to be okay, you hear me? I promise you my little wildcat, everything will be... everything will be fine. It’s just a little blood, you’re not going to let something like a tree defeat you, not after kicking my butt.”

Remy tried to smile but it was impossible to keep the expression light or the hint of fear out of his voice as he looked over the wound, trying not to flinch too badly at the smell of blood that was rich in his nostrils, making his wolf howl even more frantically. The wound was a bad one. Blood was seeping out of it even now and Remy knew if it hadn’t been for the branch still stuck in him, he would have bleed out in a matter of moments. Ironically, the very thing that was going to kill him, had slowed his death.

Remy couldn’t afford to think like that. Virgil wasn’t going to die, Remy wouldn’t let it happen, green-golden eyes snapping back to look at the human’s face. He was still laughing softly, as if the whole universe was a joke and this was the punchline. 

“I’m going to look after you okay? Will you... let me help you?” 

Virgil merely gurgled in response, blood pooling in the corner of his mouth and Remy had no idea if he could hear him or not, if he understood what Remy was saying. He needed Virgil to hear him. He needed to ask him, he needed to save him but that meant asking and instead he could see the human start to slip, to fall away into the eternal darkness. 

“No, no, don’t... please, don’t do this Virgil.” 

There was no sign that Virgil was aware of anything going on around him anymore, those beautiful pale eyes fluttering shut and refusing to open again. His chest was still rising and falling, which was a good sign but who knew how long that would continue. He was dying, Remy could feel it, could taste it in the air around them. He was just too... human, too weak, too fragile to survive a stabbing. At least, not without some help. 

Remy closed his own eyes for a moment, his mind warring with itself, beyond what he wanted to do and what was right. Virgil wasn’t his. He would never want to lay claim on someone without them agreeing to it first as much as his wolf longed to do just that. Virgil was his own person first and foremost, and he couldn’t do that to him. Not to mention that Remy knew nothing of Virgil, not really. He didn’t know what the human was really like, what sort of person he was and if he would help or hinder the pack. He was an unknown quantity and at any other time, Remy would have favoured a wait and see approach, would have tried to get to know him first and make sure he was a good person. 

There was no time here though, no chance for any of that because Virgil was dying in front of him. The sensible, cold thing to do would be to let him die. Nobody had to know what happened, and it would guarantee his pack’s safety, which was by far the most important thing to him. But at the same time, Remy knew he couldn’t let him die. He knew somehow, deep in his heart and soul, that this human was worthy, that he deserved the chance to live. That he would make a fantastic wolf and pack member. 

He had seen enough of death. He had lost so many people over his long life and there was something about Virgil that made his wolf rebel, that made it scream in fury and denial. Not another lost, wasted life. Not when he could do something about it. Even if it meant changing him without asking, even if it meant breaking his own rules. How could he crouch here and listen to the death rattle of Virgil without at least trying to save him? Wolves were stronger than humans, more powerful. Their regenerative powers were so much greater than humans and although it wasn’t a guarantee, a werewolf had a very good chance of surviving such a wound compared to the death that would await any human.

“I’m sorry babes,” Remy whispered to the unconscious form, another knife pulled from its sheath. In one fluid, practised motion, he brought the blade down across his palm, cutting through his skin and letting his blood pool freely. 

Remy just hoped that Virgil would forgive him for taking away his choice, that getting to live would make up for what he was about to do.

_Present day..._

Remy groaned, one arm lifting to drape over his eyes, head rocking back against the back of the couch he had collapsed on. The memories of that night still weighed heavily on his mind, at what he had seen, what he had chosen to do and what he had avoided. Every time he closed his eyes at night, he was faced with the sight of those beautiful eyes filled with so much fear, with pain. He heard his laboured gasps for air as he tried to breathe around the blood, the feel of him in his arms as Remy had carried his far too light and pale form for miles through the woods. There was no escape from those memories and Remy knew there would be no relief from them until Virgil had woken up properly and he had seen with his own eyes that the newly made wolf was okay. 

Physically, if nothing else. Emotionally, mentally? Well, Remy wasn’t so sure about either of those things, and he didn’t know what was worse. The guilt he felt at turning him without his permission and forcing him into a life he might not want without any choice - or the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to regret his choice even now because letting him die would have been just too painful no matter how selfish that thought was. He groaned again, wondering if Virgil was asleep or awake right now, and if he could risk sneaking away to check on him again.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic, that’s my job,” Roman huffed from across the room. “He will be fine and forgive you, who wouldn’t want to be a werewolf? You worry too much.”

“I worry just enough sugar,” Remy replied, not bothering to so much as lift his arm, let alone look in the other wolf’s direction. He had seen the fear, had smelt it in the air around them and he wasn’t as convinced as Roman was that Virgil would accept the change so easily. “Your Serious doesn’t, isn’t that hint enough? Humans tend to dislike change, they will fight against it even if that change is good.” 

It was perhaps a little cruel to mention Logan’s refusal, to bring that up and all but throw it in Roman’s face, but his friend had to realise that things were never as simple as he wanted them to be. The world wasn’t black and white, but a glorious display of grey and humans were by far the most confusing creatures of all. Remy almost always knew where he stood with another werewolf, he understood his kind - he didn’t understand the humans. He didn’t understand Virgil or his own wolf’s reaction, a rare occurrence that made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. 

Nothing made sense and so it was a relief to fall back onto something he half understood - teasing Roman about the crush he had on the human they had rescued the year before. It was adorable really, to watch him pine after the boy, to see him try and court him only for Logan to appear maddeningly immune to his charms. Remy wasn’t sure if anyone had actually said no to Roman about something important before Logan. It was good for him. _Logan_ was good for him. If only Logan would admit that and Remy had seen him looking at Roman when he thought he wasn’t looking. He had seen the expression and Logan could dress it up all he liked, but Remy knew the truth. 

Which was good and entertaining, but there was little he could do to help matters and get new juicy gossip beyond encourage Roman to keep trying. 

Right now it was hard to really care about Roman’s drama - a thought he had never dreamed he would ever think. It was hard to really care about any of the gossip that normally filled his day, not when he was this worried about Virgil, his thoughts turning time and time again to the newest wolf in the woods. 

The bond between them pulsed gently, a connection born when he had turned Virgil. It wasn’t enough to influence the younger wolf or communicate with him but it let Remy feel a little of what he was feeling. It let him know that Virgil was safe, and the bond seemed designed for that purpose. Linking a newly made with their sire so that they could be protected. Remy found great comfort in that connection, in the rise and fall of tides within it as Virgil came in and out of consciousness. It let him know his little wildcat was okay. Or as okay, as he could be.

“Ugh, rude much? I would say your precious Virgil is rubbing off on you, but you rarely, if ever go and see him. Did you know he said he thought he was in Hell simply because I was there?”

“You may have mentioned it once or twice,” Remy drawled in response, fighting to keep the smirk off his face and no matter how many times Roman complained about it, he couldn’t help but enjoy the story. That was the fire he had seen in the woods, the spirit that had convinced him that here was a human worth saving. His wildcat who -

Who was _awake_. 

Awake and experiencing a sudden, powerful surge of emotions. Remy moved, pushing himself into an upright position, head half cocked as though listening to something only he could hear. Distress was pouring through the bond now, along with a primitive, primal fear and he was moving before his brain caught up with the emotions, bounding out of the house and across the small village in a matter of moments. 

His plan to stay away, to give Virgil time to adjust was abandoned at the rush of emotions that were burning through the bond and he had no idea what was happening, what could have caused Virgil to feel that way. All he knew was that he had to get to his wildcat, he had to find some way to make it better because the emotions that were screaming at him told him that Virgil was in a bad way.

He pushed his way into the bedroom, eyes raking over Virgil who was sat upright in bed and staring at Roman’s human in horror. Logan. Logan had done something and it had hurt Virgil. Remy wasn’t having that. 

“What did you do?” Remy growled, uncaring of the way his eyes were no doubt bright gold with the power of his wolf

To his credit, Logan didn’t back down, didn’t show any fear and if it wasn’t for his advanced senses, Remy wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the way his heart was racing. He was nervous, scared even and yet he was standing between Remy and the bed, arms crossed and glaring at him as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He could see what Roman saw in the little nerd. That didn’t mean he appreciated him doing whatever it was he had done. 

“What did you do more like! You didn’t tell him?” Logan protested, eyes narrowed and Remy mentally took a step back, reeling. Tell him? 

Tell him. 

Events fell into place with a sickening jolt, and Logan had _told_ him. Patton had agreed that they shouldn’t tell Virgil about what had happened until he was stronger and ready to hear it. Patton had also insisted that Remy should be the one to tell him and as much as the cowardly part of him wanted to run away from that conversation, he knew it was his duty. Both because of the responsibility he owed his pack and the fact he had been the one to take the choice out of Virgil’s hands. 

“And you did? Gurl, that was not your place,” Remy replied, too stunned to even properly process it all. Logan had told Virgil, had stolen his thunder and now how was he supposed to explain himself properly? How could he convince Virgil that there had been no real choice when Logan had told him goodness knows what? 

“Shut it!” The shout was enough to cut through the anger, Remy’s attention shifting instantly back to the other wolf in the room. Virgil had somehow managed to climb out of the bed, one hand pressing lightly against his side, as if trying to cradle the spot where he had been injured. Through the thin and light shirt he was wearing, Remy could see the bandages wrapped around his torso, masking the area where his life had almost been cut short. 

“Stop talking about me as if I’m not even here!” Virgil shouted, grey eyes shifting to an equally pale gold, the first stirring of his wolf, the beast within him slowly coming to life. 

Patton barreled into the room seconds later, summoned no doubt by the shouting, a worried expression on his face as he took in the scene in front of him, Remy and Logan on one side of the room and Virgil on the other.

“What’s going on here kiddos? Virgil needs calm and rest, not... this.” Although his tone was even, almost friendly, there was a hint of steel within them, an undercurrent that warned even Remy not to cross him on this matter. When it came to the health of any of them, Patton was Alpha and would not be challenged. He took a step towards Virgil, hands lifted in a calming motion that Remy had seen him use so effectively so many times before.

“Come on kiddo, let’s get you back in bed.” 

“Don’t come near me!” Virgil yelled, jerking backwards from Patton as though his touch was fire and would burn him alive. Remy had never seen _anyone_ react like that to Patton before. Virgil was staring at the fatherly figure as though he was terrifying, the movement causing him to hiss, bending over for a fraction of a second as if in pain before Virgil was forcing himself upright, eyes fixed on the apparent threat that was Patton. 

In apparent panic, Virgil moved, trying to wedge himself as far from Patton as possible, squashing himself into the corner of the room, his breathing picking up, head snapping between Patton and Remy, trying to keep them all his sight. Red seeped through the bandages Virgil’s fingers were still pressed against, a delicate red that slowly started to stain the white pink. For a second Remy was thrown back into that moment, the scent of freshly spilled blood rank in his nostrils, the terror, the sheer, all consuming terror that he was going to lose his little wildcat before he even properly found him. Another blink and he was back in the room, facing an increasingly scared Virgil.

It was hard for Remy to keep his trademark cool when he could feel Virgil’s terror through the bond, as real and as potent as though it were his own, his wolf growing increasingly worked up in response. It wanted to fix this, but that seemed near impossible when Virgil didn’t want them near him. He was bleeding through, he was hurting but if he got closer Virgil would undoubtedly hurt himself more trying to get away.

“Virgil, you must remain calm,” Logan cautioned and it seemed even the nerd had noticed they needed to calm the situation as a whole. Virgil twisted a little, turning to look at him, his mouth opening and closing a few times before a soft whimper slipped free, the noise stabbing Remy in the heart. 

The young man took a staggering half step forward before stopping again, another noise of pain slipping free. Eyes rolled up in the back of his head, Virgil simply dropping like a stone and crumpling to a heap on the floor.


	6. Orange Lilies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Remy and Virgil have a conversation for the first time and it goes about as well as could be expected. Meanwhile, Roman and Logan also have a conversation - it seems as if stubborn behaviour is a human trait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at last! Finally some communication - of sorts - with the boys! And we finally start the Logan and Roman story off proper! My knowledge of flower meanings is fairly limited - I am better at telling you what a plant is used for than what it symbolises - so I just hope my internet searching came up with a correct meaning. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos feed my soul, you guys are really too kind to me and knowing that you are still reading and coming along on this ride with me has meant the world to me. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come find me at @theeternalspace

** **

### Orange Lilies

** **

Virgil was really getting sick of waking up like this.

Not so much the waking up part exactly; for all that he might have moaned and groaned about life in the village and all the depressing, crushing inevitability it would bring him, getting impaled and nearly dying had gifted him a new appreciation for living. 

He was just getting sick of waking up after unknowingly falling asleep and finding someone by his bedside, watching him intently. This time, it was the one who had chased him in woods, the one that Roman had claimed saved his life. The one who had come bursting in during his minor meltdown after learning what had happened. The one who had watched in apparent horror as he had buckled, losing the battle to stay away and Virgil had felt the injury pull open, had physically been aware of the pain as skin had split once more, hot blood pooling against the bandages. It had hurt, and some part of Virgil had dimly been surprised by how he had been able to handle the pain without screaming as he had so badly wanted to. 

Memories were rising up in him, as thick and as pungent as blood, memories of drawing in each breath as though it might be his last, Virgil struggling to breathe around the fluids in his lungs as he drowned on dry land. Memories of feeling his legs just give out on him, on the way the world went cold and then black as consciousness had escaped him. Twin timelines shimmered and twisted in his mind, memories from one shifting into the other. Moments of being trapped on the tree blended seamlessly with moments staring across a bed at the man who had saved and killed him, the man who had told him the truth and the man who had drugged him against his will. 

Virgil didn't want to think about it, he couldn’t afford to think about it, Virgil doing his best to simply push the memories away and ignore them. It was a valid coping strategy. Instead, he redirected his attention to the man who was sitting by the bed, head angled to stare out of the window, his chin resting on his knuckles. 

At least, Virgil assumed he was staring out of the window, he was wearing those ridiculous oversized dark glasses again which made it impossible to know where he was actually looking and who wore those sorts of things indoors? It wasn’t as if he needed them, not unless he was trying to hide that unnatural glow in his eyes. He was still here though, was something real, his mind trying to put all the last few pieces together, to fully wake up. This was the one Roman had said was called... was called...

“Remy?” Voice was a hoarse croak, his throat aching as he spoke. Virgil swallowed heavily, trying to sooth the fire that was raging there, his eyes never leaving Remy. The male turned, flashing him an altogether too bright smile, showing off perfect white, sharp teeth and that reminded Virgil of something else too. This was the one who had turned him into a werewolf. 

Strangely, he felt a lot more calm thinking about it now, thinking about the faintly ridiculous truth Logan had told him. That the monsters in the wood were werewolves and that somehow he was one of them now and while he didn’t really understand anything of what Logan had said, he was ready to learn exactly what had happened and why. 

He just hoped that they were finally ready to teach him. 

“Hey Gurl, you’re finally awake. I gotta say, coma victim? Not a good look on you babes.” Remy flashed him another bright smile as he spoke, something a little too wide and sharp to be completely natural. Or comforting. Virgil blinked a couple of times at him, wondering if the words would suddenly made any more sense if he waited. They didn’t. 

“I think you have to be asleep longer than a night for it to count as being in a coma,” Virgil rasped after a long pause before a new thought occurred to him, eyes widening. “I mean... it was only a night right?”

“Oh yeah, that was yesterday when you passed out and gave us all quite a scare, Pat-a-cake had to put you back together but luckily you had only pulled a few stitches. He did give me strict instructions not to tire you out or get you worked up so do us both a favour and stay calm okay? I’d rather not face his wrath again.” Remy waved a hand dismissively as he spoke, as though he was talking about a casual event and not the fact that Virgil had managed to injure himself yet again.

Virgil only had his word for it that he was telling the truth of course. There was no way he could measure the time himself, he had lost all concept of how long he had been here, his moments of lucidity interspersed with dreams that could have been hours or days. It could have been yesterday or it could have been last week and who knew what they might have done to him while he was unconscious. Or rather, who knew what _else_ they might have done to him while unconscious, the nagging feeling of being changed against his will and how that made him feel still floating almost disconnected to the rest of him. 

He was still calm. Virgil wasn’t naive enough to think that such an emotion would last, he had always been a victim to his feelings, tossed this way and that on the changing storms of his emotions. Usually negative ones. Maybe it was the fact that he knew he had to be careful, that he could literally rip himself apart thanks to the still healing wound in his chest. Still healing wound that should have killed him and nope, nope, he was not going down that road. Not yet. This was the clearest his mind had been in a long time and he wasn’t willing to risk hurting himself and losing that clarity of thought.

Maybe it was the ever present fear that this Patton might leap out of the shadows and drug him back to oblivion if he protested too much, Virgil fighting down a shiver at the thought. Remy’s head titled ever so slightly to the side, blank faced as he stared at him and Virgil had the passing urge to just slap those stupid shades off his face so that at least he would be able to see his eyes and maybe gauge what the other man - wolf - was thinking. 

Had Remy noticed his shiver? Or was he just moving his head? Who knew, certainly not Virgil because all emotion was hidden behind the blackness of his shades. 

Not to mention he didn’t trust a single word that came out Remy’s mouth right now. He didn’t trust anyone with the possible - only possible - exception of Logan who hat least had been honest with him and hadn’t tried to tip toe around the truth. Although even Logan was involved in this, was helping them and Virgil felt like a prisoner of them all. Even if he was up to it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wouldn’t be allowed to leave this room or at least he wouldn’t be allowed to leave alone, there would always be someone breathing down his neck, watching him, making sure he behav- no, he wasn’t think that either. 

Virgil couldn’t find the words to actually explain all those non thoughts, to express his distrust in a way that made sense, that could come out in sensible sentence without triggering a panic attack and he had worked too hard after waking up this time to slide back into yet another panic attack. 

He settled for simply staring at him from the mound of pillows he was still resting against, wondering how much of that lack of trust, of anger was actually coming through out of his tired expression and how much was just him internally screaming. Some of his feelings had to be coming through clearly because Remy shrugged, movement a little more awkward than before, turning a little to the side table. Virgil couldn’t help but turn his head to watch what he was doing, taking in the tray that was balanced there for the first time. 

“I brought you some food, dig in. And take a drink, while I’m loving the husky tones it has gotta be murder on your throat.”

The mention of food made his stomach rumble hungrily, as if it had only just realised how hungry he really was. Another thing he had lost complete track of in the haze of waking up and passing out again. Virgil knew he must have eaten during his recovery but try as he might, he couldn’t actually remember doing it. It made a flush of red cross his cheeks at the realisation that someone would have fed him, that he almost certainly would have been too weak to do it himself. 

Virgil tried to comfort himself with the thought that at least he was getting better. He was stronger now, he was more aware and he wouldn’t be that pathetic again. Nobody offered help without wanting something back and it was not knowing what they wanted, which was killing him. Virgil didn’t want to be a thing, a trophy that was pulled out when the occasion demanded before being pushed back into a box when not needed. 

He did his best not to think about the reality of the moment, how he had no power here and would be helpless to resist if that was what they did want for him. They had already proved that they didn’t care what he might want over what they considered best, changing him, drugging him and keeping him prisoner here. 

Or else they genuinely wanted to help him and this whole thing had been to try and heal him without any other desire than to see him better and the choices had been made to try and keep him alive, nothing more. 

Honestly, he wasn’t sure which possibility scared him more. 

Arms barely shook as he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, Virgil relishing in the feeling of being able to do that without feeling exhausted. 

He felt strangely grateful for the way Remy was simply sitting there, waiting for him to get settled before playing the tray on his lap instead of attempting to help without asking. And then annoyed at himself for being so pathetic, so weak that he would find such a thing good. It was normal to let someone else sit up on their own and yet here he was, so simperingly grateful that he had been allowed the smallest degree of independence. It made a tiny flame flicker to life in his mind, the urge to rebel against everything and anything start to take root there, just for the sake of being contrary. 

Slowly, Virgil eyed the plate of food in front of him. Bread, cheese, fruit and a glass of water. Everything in easy chunks to eat so that he didn’t need to cut anything up. Or, if he was feeling less charitable, so they didn’t have to give him a knife and fork, and thus a weapon. Not that Virgil thought he would be able to get anywhere with it, but having a blade at hand would make him feel a little more at ease. He had left his pocket knife in the village, the mother of pearl handed blade a gift from his now long dead father. It had been one of his most treasured possessions - if not his most treasured possession - and like everything else he owned, he had been forced to leave it behind. 

After all, he had been dead already in the eyes of the village and the dead could hold no property. 

Which left him here, still a little weak, sat in a stranger's bed without any means of defending himself. There was nothing he could do at the moment but submit to the orders. Virgil picked up the glass of water before freezing, a sudden memory assaulting him. He could remember the last time he had taken a drink because someone had asked him to. He remembered the pain relief it had brought him and then the way it had dragged him back into sleep. He could remember the pain of a different sort, the mental agony that he had felt when he had realised the friendly looking man had tricked him, had drugged him. It had all been under the guise of helping him, just as Remy was now insisting he wanted to help him. 

He stared down at it without actually seeing the drink for a few ragged breaths, fingers tightening around the glass. It was water. It had to just be water... right? 

Remy shifted, leaning forward a little, one hand lifting to sweep the sunglasses off his face. Before, that was the main thing that Virgil had wanted, to be able to see his eyes in the hope that he might be able to get some clarity, some understanding of what the other man - wolf - wanted. Now, all Virgil could think was that he wanted him to put those glasses back on. 

Those bright green eyes seemed to gaze right into his soul, searching deep into his eyes and making him shrink a little back against the bed. It felt as though Remy could see every thought he had ever had as he stared, as if he knew every worry and doubt that was searing through his mind. It was as if he could see just how big of a mistake he had made in saving his life. Virgil had no doubts about his worth and usefulness - it was simply a matter of waiting for Remy to catch up to the rest of the world, to see how pathetic he really was and then, if he was lucky, he would simply be thrown out.

Far more likely however, was that he would be killed. If Remy had saved his life as they all claimed and in the way that they said, then a whole host of tradition claimed that Virgil owed him his life. Or that he had a life debt. Or that he was owned by him. Some rubbish like that which he hoped wasn’t the case here. It was a mess of possibilities, none of which Virgil liked. He wasn’t anyone’s, no matter how kind Remy had been in saving him from a painful, bloody death. And he wasn’t going to drink possible poisoned water just like that. 

“Virgil? Aren’t you hungry babes?” Remy prodded and his apparent desire to get Virgil to eat, only made him that much more paranoid, that much more uneasy about accepting anything they offered. It was even enough to push through that unsettling gaze and voice his fears. 

“What if it is drugged?” Virgil asked, ignoring the way his throat protested at the motion, the way his voice rasped and ached, his whole body begging for him to just give in and take a drink, no matter what. Even if it knocked him out again, at least his throat wouldn’t hurt so much.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Remy protested, one hand flying up to press lightly against where his heart would be in an over the top, dramatic motion. 

Virgil narrowed his eyes, that familiar feeling of spite burning in him and that was something he was used to. That was something he could use, something he could build upon both as amour and a weapon. If there was one thing that Virgil was good at, it was using those feelings of spite and rage to get him through the worst of his days. Hopefully they would carry him now as he tested the limits of this new world that had been pressed upon him. 

Slowly, deliberately, he placed the glass of water back on the tray, without a single drop drunk. Equally deliberately, he pushed it away with one finger, just a centimetre or so, but enough to make it clear what he thought of Remy’s statement.

“What if it is drugged... again?” Virgil asked him, words as deliberate and as measured as his actions, still staring at Remy with that same expression of mistrust, the other man having the grace to at least look a little embarrassed by the unfortunate truth that Virgil was refusing to ignore. 

“It was for your own good,” Remy protested, and Virgil wondered if his words sounded as hollow to the man saying them as they did to the man who had to listen to them. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to carry on listening to the feeble excuses pouring out. 

“Patton knew you weren’t ready to hear what had happened and I know we have to talk about it, but you need to recover your strength first.”

“My own... good....” Virgil repeated slowly, almost as though testing the words and how they sounded in his own voice. Still hollow. Still _wrong_ and he might have accepted some other excuse - doubtful, but the chance had been there. There was no chance of him accepting that as a reason, not when it pulled at everything that he hated most. 

“Do you know how many times I have heard that? How many people in my life have made all the choices for me, always with the excuse that it was for my own _good_?” 

Virgil could feel himself getting more and more worked up as he spoke, as he spit out his fears into the air like throwing daggers. He had expected to get some pleasure out of seeing his words hit home, he had expected to feel some savage satisfaction at the way Remy shrunk a little into his seat, eyes lowering to stare at his lap. It only made him feel cold. Which in turn, made him feel angry, because why couldn’t Remy rage back or be properly hurt? 

Why couldn’t Virgil cleanly win or lose this? For better or for worse, at least he would then know what was going on and Remy wasn’t rising to the bait, Virgil fighting the urge to take the food and throw it at him. 

“Please, my little wildcat, you need to stay calm,” Remy pleaded, hand lifting in what was probably supposed to be a supportive gesture but only made Virgil all the more angry. The other man looked almost - _almost_ \- genuine, his eyes wide and pleading, pain in those deep green eyes that Virgil really didn’t want to think about. Not when he was so angry and hurting himself, his mind latching onto those words and finding another battle to pick with them.

“I’m not your anything!” Virgil snapped, hands curling into fists, his whole body shaking a little and no, no, he had just escaped a life where he was considered property, where his whole life had been mapped out for him before he had dared to rebel. He wasn’t about to just walk willingly into a new life where things could be the same, if not worst. 

He would still rather die. 

He had made that choice once and he would make the same one again, no matter how scary it was, no matter how badly his mind and soul screamed for life, screamed for living. Virgil wouldn’t be someone’s toy, wouldn’t be bound by arcanic rules that demanded his life no longer be his own. What was the point in having a life saved if it then just belonged to someone else? 

His heart was screaming, racing along at what felt like a hundred miles an hour and every breath just brought in more panic, more terror, and there didn’t seem any end to it, as if the very air itself was laced with those emotions. 

Remy deflated suddenly, looking so much older. He looked as tired as Virgil felt, and if Virgil wasn’t so angry he might have wondered at that, at how almost sad Remy looked. Not that Virgil cared. He didn’t care. 

The way in which he gave in made Virgil relax slightly, some of that tension leaving him now that Remy no longer looked as though he was about to pick a fight. 

“No, I suppose you’re not my wildcat. But you are my responsibility. I couldn’t let you die but you’re a werewolf now and this is my pack. It is up to me to help you understand the changes and guide you in this new life. After that... then you can make all the choices you want. Which means you need to eat to get your strength back up before we do anything else.” 

“Responsibility. Great,” Virgil snorted, looking away to examine the wall as though it was the most fascinating thing in the whole room. Anything to not look at the green eyed man sat beside him. The anger left him as rapidly as it had arrived, simply leaving him tired and worn out. His body no longer seemed capable of sitting bolt upright, Virgil leaning back into the mountain of pillows, letting them support him as he carried on staring at the wall, ignoring both the still untouched food - which had mostly remarkably stayed intact bar a few spilled drops of water - and the other man sat beside him. 

He didn’t understand his own reactions so it was maybe a little unfair to expect Remy to know the right thing to say about this whole mess, to know how to explain everything in the correct way to stop him getting upset again.

Virgil was not in the mood to be generous. He didn’t want to examine his own thoughts and feelings too closely, he didn’t want to try and put himself into Remy’s shoes and imagine what it had been like for him, confronted with a dying Virgil and the only way to save him was to take from him. Virgil didn’t want to be the better man, not right now. He was so tired of trying to be the better man.

“You need to eat,” Remy mumbled and that was probably his belief in his so called ‘responsibility’ that he thought he had to keep trying to push the food on Virgil. At least it thankfully made him stop thinking about if he was being reasonable or overreacting because it meant he could focus on something else instead. If Remy was being honest in his desire for Virgil to eat or if there was some other ulterior motive at play here. 

Either way, it made the proverbial hackles in his mind rise, Virgil staring at the tray, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. His stomach grumbled again, another loud rumble that made his cheeks flush in humiliation. Virgil knew he needed to eat but he didn’t know if he physically could. No matter how hungry he was, the thought of actually eating anything on the plate made his anxieties swirl and swarm violently. 

It was a level of trust that he just couldn’t bring himself to have. At least not without getting something back, not without feeling as though Remy was at least trying to meet him halfway. 

“You first,” he said suddenly, head snapping up to stare at Remy, a determined gleam in his eyes, suddenly feeling a lot more confident about everything. He had a plan now, he had something to hold onto and Virgil was going to hold onto this one thought, this one idea with all the determination and strength of a drowning man clinging to his one chance of salvation. 

“What?” Remy looked confused and really he had no right to look as good as he did while puzzled, like some kind of harmless young man who had wandered into the room by mistake and was being yelled at for no good reason. He might be wearing a leather jacket but he still seemed more likely to enjoy a cup of tea and a cake while talking about a cool bug he had seen that day in the forest rather than be chasing down innocent rabbits to rip their throats out. 

Virgil knew better. There was a wolf under that soft exterior after all. 

“You eat half and then after a little while if you’re still standing, I’ll eat half,” Virgil told him, inwardly proud of the way his voice remained steady, without a single hint of hesitation or insecurity. He sounded strong, as if he meant what he said and wasn’t fully aware that Remy could literally force the food down his throat if he decided to go down that road. Virgil was really counting on the fact that Remy - for whatever reason - was trying to keep this civil. If he wanted to play it the nice way, then he was going to have to deal with the fact that Virgil was not going to behave. Terror would make him cower for the moment but he would fight the only way he knew how; with defiance. Right till the bitter end. 

“And then we’ll talk?” Virgil added, hating how his voice was starting to betray him, a slight hint of uncertainty slipping through. “You can... tell me about... well about everything.” 

It was as close as Virgil felt as if he could get to admitting that he actually wanted to have a conversation with Remy, that he wanted to give him a chance to explain himself. Virgil might be a mix of calm and terrified, swinging between extremes whenever he allowed himself to think about it but he did want to try and understand what he had apparently become. 

Remy smiled. It wasn’t a mocking smile. Not even his own justifiable paranoia could mistake that expression as something cold or cruel because he knew those smiles only too well. He had been on the receiving end of them too often for Virgil to miss seeing something of that in the smile if it had been there. This seemed honest, warm and Virgil couldn’t trust it. He wouldn’t trust it because nothing but terrible things happened to him when he let his guard down. Virgil had been bitten - quite literally when it came to Remy it seemed - too many times to be able to believe that this could be something good. 

Still, if he didn’t know better, Virgil would say that it almost seemed... proud. 

“Deal.” 

\--

Logan turned the page, his mind not on the words he had just read. In fact, he couldn’t actually remember anything he had read all afternoon which was... frustrating, honestly. He prided himself on his ability to stay focused no matter the case, to be able to get the job done no matter what.

Such a skill had been tested this past year when his life had been thrown upside down and tossed around as if it was nothing more important than an easily bruised apple in a sack. All he had wanted was to show his village how foolish they had been behaving towards this so called tribute and how the wrath of the Gods was hardly going to rain down on them just because they had refused to send their youth out to die. After looking through the religious texts, Logan was surprised they hadn't been smited on the spot for actually doing that, and the Gods his family worshipped seemed to resent anything getting attention that wasn’t them. The way his village fawned over the mysterious beasts within the woods was sickening and he doubts the Gods would appreciate such rivals for their affections - assuming they existed of course. 

That hadn’t gone down well in the village when he had tried to explain his viewpoints to the rest of them, when he had tried to use facts to prove how stupid they all were in just blindly repeating the folly of previous years simply because that was how it had always been done.

Their response - to declare him the next victim and leave him to die in the woods - while not too surprising given the evidence he had already collected on their gullibility and knee jerk relation to any attempt at independence, was disappointing to say the least. Logan couldn’t say what he was most upset about; losing all his books or the way his parents had conspired with everyone else to get rid of him. They said it was to save his soul, that such blasphemy would damn him and this was his only chance. The mayor had briskly advised him to look within his heart and try and make his peace with the Gods before it was too late before they all abandoned him to his apparent fate. 

Logan had never really been a religious person. He was more a fan of things that he could prove without a doubt, things that could be repeated whenever needed because they followed a set of logical thinking process. He liked things that he could touch, smell, taste, see, hear without any emotions or mumble jumbo getting in the way. Things which, at the end of the day, made sense.

Which made the existence of werewolves... problematic to say the least. 

They shouldn’t exist. They were magic, they were of the Old Way and they did things that defied all the rules and laws of the land as Logan understood them. They were almost two separate beings sharing one body at any time, a body they could shift between, eventually at will. And yet they were also the same being, the same person but with two very different outlooks. They were stronger than either a man or a wolf, faster too. They could do things they just shouldn’t be able to do and it made him want to scream sometimes when he would record his findings in his book only to have someone - typically Roman - show up and merrily wreck his carefully constructed hypothesis. 

Roman, in particular, made him want to scream and throw things. It was not the reaction of a scientist and Logan knew he should do better, but there was something about the energetic wolf that got under his skin in a way nobody else around here did. He constantly destroyed every barrier and wall Logan built up around himself without a care in the world. 

Remy was slightly better and easier to deal with but then Logan rarely saw the so called leader of the wolves. He kept away from the humans for the most part and although they had exchanged the occasional conversation in passing, he had never had an issues with him - until yesterday when Virgil had woken up while Logan had been sitting there. His feelings towards the young man had been mixed to start with, confused and torn. 

They had rapidly shifted into protectiveness when it became clear that the change had been forced upon him without his knowledge and Logan had really thought that Remy was better than that. He was always the one preaching about rights and consent and how you couldn’t just make that choice on a whim. Only for Remy to apparently turn around and do just that. Logan wasn’t a fool, he knew there was a lot more going on there than just that, he knew that the situation had been a highly unusual one, but that didn’t change the fact that even he had been able to pick up on how scared and lost Virgil had seemed to be. 

He hoped the new wolf was alright. He would have to pay a visit to him later, if Virgil was amenable to it.

It was Patton he got on the best with. Patton who had taught him a lot about the herbs that grew in the forest and Logan could understand why the people thought they were magic. They had amazing medicinal purposes and could do all manner of different effects depending on if you ate them, smoked them or applied them directly onto skin. He found the whole thing amazing, although frustrating at the same time because Patton didn’t know why certain plants had these properties, only that they did. Which didn’t help Logan and there was little he hated more than an unsolved mystery. Patton kept saying that all that mattered was that they worked but that wasn’t enough for Logan. He needed to know why. 

He needed to know a lot of things. 

A knock on the door had him sighing and closing the book. He would have to go back anyway and reread the chapter again to try and see what he had missed so there was no point in marking the page. Logan stood and moved through the small building he called home, one of the little cottages dotted around the edge of the secret village set within the wood, far from the prying eyes of anyone foolish enough to make their way under the trees - not that anyone would, the legends that had built up surrounding the dangers that lurked with made sure of that. 

Upon opening the door he was confronted with a large bunch of orange lilies shoved in his face. Logan blinked a couple of times as he examined the flowers before giving a little internal sigh and accepting them calmly. 

“Hello Roman,” he greeted calmly, not having to look up from the flowers to know that the annoyingly bright werewolf would be the one giving him such a useless and impractical gift. 

“Greetings light of my life, keeper of my heart!” 

As grand as ever it seemed. Logan didn’t understand why Roman kept trying this when he had already said he had no desire at this time to pursue any type of romantic coupling. Roman was undeniably attractive true, but he didn’t know him beyond the superficial. Which was sort of his own fault since Roman had made more than one attempt to get to know him and had been firmly rebuffed for his efforts. Yet still the wolf persisted in his attempts to court him for whatever reason. 

“Do you like the flowers?” Roman asked and Logan, who certainly wasn’t the most astute when it came to emotions, was easily able to pick up on the honest nerves within those words. Finally, he looked up from the flowers to take in the sight of Roman in front of him, a wide and easy grin on his features, his reddish brown hair flopping over one eye in an out of control haircut that was as impractical as it was annoying. Logan deliberately chose not to think on why he found it annoying - it would lead to impractical which was a closed circuit of thinking and not a trap he desired to fall into today or ever.

He almost felt bad about the fact he was about to knock Roman back down into the harsh reality of the world when the wolf was smiling so hopefully at him, watching him as though his reaction was actually important. 

Almost.

Logan was only telling the truth after all and it wasn’t his fault that the werewolf had made such an unfortunate error in his choice of flowers. His mother had been interested in flowers, something she had been keen to pass onto her only child and while Logan had struggled to understand the practical application of knowing the random meanings behind each type and colour, it had still been something to learn. It had been a skill to master and almost worth it to see her smile with pride instead of stare at him in ill disguised confusion and not a little disappointment. He had always been an odd child and Logan had thrown himself into learning the meaning behind every flower just to try and please her.

It hadn’t worked in the long run of course, but at least he had gained some form of knowledge, no matter how useless Logan had first considered it. Who would have thought his mothers random interest would serve him in good stead here? 

“This flower means hatred,” Logan remarked calmly. He plucked one flower from the bunch, spinning it gracefully between his fingers before offering it back to Roman, watching with detached interest as the wolf automatically took it, his expressive features falling into something between a pout and a pained smile.

Logan couldn’t shake the feeling he had hurt the wolf somehow by his honesty and he disliked that feeling. As well as the fact that he felt it at all. This was always how their interactions went, Roman annoyed Logan and then Logan hurt Roman. He didn’t like it and he failed to believe that Roman could possibly enjoy this at all. Logan sighed, looking back towards the bunch of flowers he was still holding. 

“How many times will we persist in this dance Roman?” 

“Until you give me a chance my sweet. Or until you tell me that I am making you uncomfortable instead of merely turning down my advances. You are never shy about expressing yourself, it is one of the many things I adore about you. One word in that direction and I will never bother you again.” 

The same damnable answer that Roman always gave. The same out he always gave, as sincere and as intense as ever, the truth shining brightly in those warm eyes. All Logan had to do was say this was making him uncomfortable and the game would end once and for all. Logan didn’t doubt that, didn’t question the truth of the statement; one word from him and he would never have to deal with this again. One word and no more flowers, no more singing at four in the morning to try and serenade him. No more popping up at the oddest times just to try and talk to him. It would all end and that was what Logan wanted surely. 

“Goodbye Roman.” As ever, Logan found himself side stepping the problem, shelving it for another time. Second hand curled around the stems of the flowers, both twisting and snapping the green stalks clean in half in one swift moment. Logan held his arm out of the side, letting the bunch of broken flowers drop to the ground in an unceremonious heap beside them.

“Until next time, oh sweet Owlet of my dreams.” 

Logan wasn’t going to dignify that infuriating nickname with a response, merely turning and stepping back inside, closing the door firmly behind him. There was certainly no guilt to be felt over destroying the flowers now, not after Roman had decided to use that name once more. 

He peered out of the window once he was sure Roman was gone, staring at the ruined flowers still lying in a pitiful little heap by his door. It was... unexpected of Roman to keep going, to be so intent on ‘winning’ his heart as he had claimed. Was it a wolf thing? The joy of the chase? Logan struggled to come up with any reason as to why Roman was still ntent on chasing him, a mere human, just as he struggled to come up with any convincing reason to explain why he was allowed this charade to continue. 

Logan couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by the wolf and his ridiculous behaviour any longer. It had already taken up far too much of his precious time, not merely the conversations themselves but also the time he spent dissecting them afterwards, picking every single part, every word and gesture to try and get to the bottom of it all. He couldn’t stop the dance until he understood it but understanding seemed forever out of reach. He should go back to his book, should work out where he had first lost concentration. Or perhaps Logan should go and check in on Virgil, to make sure he was alright. 

This had to be a very trying time for him and although Logan was hardly skilled in the art of comforting someone - or indeed, in understanding emotions in general - he had been in a similar situation to Virgil. He knew what it was like to expect to die at the hands and claws of the wolves and yet be shown kindness instead. Logan could try and be a friend of sorts, could use his own knowledge to prove to Virgil that they meant him no further harm and could be trusted. 

Still, he found himself struggling to look away from the flowers by his door and focus on anything else. 

Yes, the orange lily had symbolised hate. But as Logan was only too aware, it also meant respect and honour - so why hadn’t he told Roman that?


	7. Welcome to the Neighbourhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Is this his life now? Questions pile upon questions and it doesn’t help that Virgil is still prey to the worst of his emotions._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Yes, I am _finally_ updating this again. And I have been feeling very inspired by this lately so in theory, it won’t be that long before the next update. Thank you so much for being patient with me.
> 
> **CHAPTER WARNING:** There is a pretty major panic attack in the second half of this chapter, please be aware and stay safe. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come find me at @theeternalspace

** **

### Welcome to the Neighbourhood

** **

True to his demands, Virgil had refused to take a single bite of food until Remy had worked his way through exactly half of everything on the tray. He had pointed to the parts he wanted the wolf to eat, swapping the sides as he went just in case they had somehow foreseen he would do this and had drugged half of the food. It was super paranoid of Virgil perhaps, but then was it really paranoia when they were out to get you? Patton had drugged him before, had made the choice that he wasn’t ready for this and who was to say that he wouldn’t make that choice again?

When the food had been consumed, Virgil had simply sat there in silence, watching Remy intently. He wasn’t sure how long the drugs would take to kick in if the food had been tampered with, but they should have done something by now right? Virgil had passed out so quickly after consuming the drugged drink and he hadn’t drank too much of that. 

“Happy now?” Remy had slipped his sunglasses back on somewhere along the way, his voice calm. Too calm, Virgil feeling that urge to slap him or storm out of the room rise up again. Anything to get a reaction from Remy. He at least understood it when he got a reaction from the other man - wolf. A reaction, good or bad, at least gave him something to respond to, not like this infuriating calmness which was a mask. He didn’t know Remy but he felt a lot closer to starting to understand him when he at least acted as if he had feelings. 

Still, at least the food wasn’t drugged this time, his heart finally slowing down enough for the panic to settle into something manageable, something he was used to. It was safe to eat, Virgil slowly reaching out to pick up a chunk of bread. He ignored Remy’s question, just as he ignored the way he could feel the gaze burning into him. Even through the sunglasses, Virgil could feel Remy staring and it was off putting to say the least. Remy had held up his end of the deal though and the sooner Virgil ate, the sooner he would hopefully continue to do that. The sooner he would learn more about what he was. 

That thought both comforted and terrified him in nearly equal measures. Virgil wasn’t sure if he was ready to learn exactly how he had been changed, not really. At the same time though, he knew that he needed to. And that the truth, no matter how terrible it was, would always be better than the horrible ideas his paranoid mind could conjure up. Virgil was going to get through this. 

With that thought in mind, he finally, gingerly, took a bite. 

His stomach growled hungrily, reminding him yet again of how starving he actually was and now that Virgil knew that the food hadn’t been tampered with, he was almost a little sad that half of the food was already eaten. He felt ravenous all of a sudden, his body crying out for more and more sustenance. Virgil had to remind himself with every mouthful to take it slow, to not greedily devour everything on offer. His stomach probably wouldn’t like that. There would be more food. There had to be more food, and hopefully that food would be safe as well. The thought made his current mouthful stick in his throat, half chewed and lodged there, unwilling to move up or down. Because there was no guarantee that the food would always be safe to eat.

He was going to have to make someone eat half of his food all the time because knowing Virgil’s luck, the moment he relaxed, the moment he lowered his guard would be the same moment they decided to drug him for whatever twisted reason.

“Virgil?” Remy had shifted a little closer, leaning towards him, his eyebrows drawn together over his sunglasses and Virgil almost thought he looked concerned. Which was ridiculous surely. He looked away without answering, taking another mouthful of food and swallowing it. It felt like ash in his mouth, tasteless and claggy, even swallow a great struggle.

Suddenly, he wasn’t very hungry anymore, even though there was still a good few mouthfuls left on the plate, Virgil slowly settling his fork down. The clink of metal against plate felt deafeningly loud in his ears as he stared at it.

“Come on,” Remy said after a short pause, standing up, his hands brushing over his leather jacket almost absently. His fingers twitched a little, Virgil watching them warily, trying to work out what repressed action they represented. What was it that Remy had wanted to do, attack him? Offer a hand to him? The movement betrayed nerves and somehow, strangely, that reassured Virgil a little. It made Remy that tiny bit more human and right now Virgil needed that. 

“You want the tour?” 

A chance to get out of this bed? A chance to finally move? As though Virgil was going to turn that opportunity down, his current worries if not forgotten, then at least pushed to the back of his mind where they could be ignored for the moment. 

Maybe even a chance to run although it wasn’t as though he had anywhere to go, the thought depressing him slightly. As bizarre as it was to think, Remy and the strange assortment of people around him seemed safe. Despite the highly questionable methods in which they had helped to heal him, they had, at least, meant well. They had saved his life although Virgil wasn’t anywhere close to thanking them for it, he could at least internally acknowledge that. Plus, they hadn’t - yet - made any plans to murder him and that was better than his previous situation. 

And at least they weren’t throwing him out to die anywhere and how pathetic that the bar was that low. Not being actively killed was enough to stop him from trying to escape people who had sort of kidnapped him. In a way. 

This was turning out to be a very confusing not death. 

Virgil slowly moved, sliding from the bed to stand on his own feet at long last. He ached a little as he moved, limbs protesting at the sudden effort that was expected of them after so long lying down but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as he expected. His stomach ached, the skin pulling this way and that, Virgil breathing deeply to keep himself from looking down. Virgil had no desire to see the mark left by the tree - or worse, the idea that there might be no mark at all, further proof of his unnatural change. 

After a few moments of standing, it felt as though he was made of jelly and straw, and that the slightest little puff of wind would send him back down. He felt tired already and they hadn’t even left the room yet. 

“Easy, you’re still recovering, take it slow,” Remy cautioned, his fingers twitching again as he half reached out before pulling away again and it seemed as though he was having to constantly remind himself not to touch. Good. Virgil wasn’t his property, even if he did technically owe him his life. He didn’t want the support, Virgil wanted to be able to prove to himself - and to Remy - that he wasn’t weak and feeble. The thought gave him the strength to keep standing and to even straighten himself up a little, spine snapping to some form of attention. 

He didn’t want to lose what little control he had over his own life right now and that meant keeping a healthy distance between himself and the man who he was fairly sure was giving him sad puppy dog eyes, his lips twisted into a slightly sweet sad little pout. 

Joke was on Remy if that was the case, the other man had clearly forgotten he was wearing his shades still and thus Virgil couldn’t see the expression properly. Not that it would have made a difference if he could, but at least he didn’t have to worry about doubting himself in that respect at least. There were so many other ways he could doubt himself after all and it was still so early in the day. He didn’t want to get too worked up already. 

Remy gave a soft little sigh but his hands remained firmly in their own space, something Virgil felt grateful about - as well as a tiny bit guilty. It was nothing more than a stray thought, one that he ruthlessly pushed down into the deepest, darkest corner of his mind, never to think about again. He didn’t feel sorry for Remy, not at all. He felt nothing for the guy except annoyance. 

Nothing at all.

Legs were shaking just a fraction as he followed him out of the room, glancing about with undisguised curiosity as they went. It was the first time Virgil had left the bedroom and he wanted to learn everything he could about his new... hosts? Home? Whatever this was. 

They seemed to be on the second floor of a fairly normal, nondescript building. It looked a lot like the ones in Virgil's home village - one of the fancier ones true, but still a normal, human home nevertheless. Belatedly, he wondered whose home exactly this was. Someone important surely, but beyond that he was at a loss. It also made him wonder how everyone else lived. It was the poorest person he needed to find. The one with the dirty, dingy house because only there would Virgil get an honest view of what this place was really like. It was easy to keep up the smiles and pretense in a place gilded with goodness and light, but find the person being oppressed and he would know what sort of people he was dealing with. 

There was a strange scent in the air now that he was no longer so very focused on his own fear and could think beyond the terror of what might happen to him in this world. Virgil tilted his head upwards, sniffing the air and trying to place the sweetness. It made his mouth water, the fears of before forgotten in the fact of such a delicious smell. It reminded him of his childhood, when his mother had still been healthy and strong enough to cook. She had baked quite often in those days. Virgil had gained quite a sweet tooth because of it. Then the sickness had come, the first of the changes and the cooking had dwindled to nearly nothing. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had smelt baked treats within a house and not the village bakery but even so, it didn’t smell... _quite_ right. There was no warmth with it, no actual cooking, not as Virgil remembered it. It was still delicious and perhaps it was merely time which was distorting it, the age between the two points so great, the distance travelled between them so vast. This was a strange place and situation, his whole body was aching and filled with tension. It was no wonder then, that the scent wouldn’t be exactly what he thought it should be. 

Almost without realising it, Virgil allowed a faint smile to curl onto his lips, head still tilted towards the smell, breathing deeply, calmly. 

“That’s Patton. He’s baking downstairs, I think he’s just got as far as beating the mixture. He always bakes when he’s stressed and he didn’t want to leave without talking to you,” Remy explained, the lanky male leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he watched. This Remy was always watching it seemed. There was a small smile on his own face, something gentle, almost awed as he stared at him. It made Virgil feel strangely self conscious, a blush blooming on his cheeks the longer Remy stared at him. 

The awkwardness grew in the pit of his stomach, forcing Virgil to want to go on the defensive. The urge to snap at Remy increased in parallel to that uncomfortable knot he was feeling. Anything to make Remy stop looking at him like that.

Wait, Patton was doing _what?_

Virgil blinked a couple of times as he tried to process everything Remy had said, his brain only now swapping from what he could see to what he had just heard. There was so much to try and unpack in those few sentences alone. That Patton was the sort to stress bake. That he was clearly worried about something. That he wanted to talk to Virgil and no, no, nononono, Virgil wasn’t ready to have that conversation, or any conversation with the deceptively soft looking man. The mere thought of seeing Patton again was enough to make the breath catch in his throat, Virgil pushing down that rising panic. Now was not the time to panic because that wasn’t even the most important thing Remy had said. 

Because then there was the idea that he could smell uncooked cakes as clear as day from rooms away. 

“He... hasn’t started cooking them yet?” Virgil asked faintly, and he wondered if he was still dreaming. It was a very weird dream if that was the case but that sounded more plausible than suddenly being able to smell stuff from a great distance away. 

“That’s right my wi- uh, Virgil. You’ve got enhanced senses, hearing, seeing, smelling... just some of the many advantages to being a werewolf. You’re welcome.”

Remy looked somewhere between far too pleased with himself and hopeful, as if Virgil was going to take this new found ability and suddenly apologise for his reaction, as if he had been completely in the wrong to freak out or be angry at Remy for taking such an important choice away from him. 

Well, Virgil wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. 

Not to mention it would have been nice to know things like that before becoming a werewolf, so that he could have made the choice knowing what would happen. Instead he was supposed to, what? Give Remy a round of applause for technically saving his life? Just as he had technically been the one to nearly kill him? Granted, it had been Virgil and Virgil alone who had tripped, falling completely by accident. The memory made him wince a little, hand resting lightly against his stomach, just over where the wound had been. 

It had still been Remy who had chased him to such a fall. Remy who had thought there was nothing wrong in waving a knife around in front of someone that was already convinced they were going to die. It was Remy who had decided not to say a single word but had merely growled and looked completely terrifying while brandishing a knife. He had been a scary man in a scary forest during an already scary situation. Of course Virgil was going to run and fight with every fiber of his being and of course he wasn’t going to believe the knife wielding maniac when he tried to restrain him while saying everything was fine. 

Now he was looking all smug and far too pleased with himself for Virgil’s liking, not after all the terror he had been put through thanks to the man. Virgil simply narrowed his eyes at Remy and gestured for him to go first down the stairs. Somehow, showing him his back set Virgil even further on edge and he wasn’t exactly sure why. He had been impaled in the back but that didn’t really seem to explain the almost instinctive animalistic revulsion he felt at the thought of offering his back to the other man. 

“Let’s go take a look,” Remy suggested, neatly sidestepping both his own words and the lack of any verbal response from Virgil. If Remy kept avoiding any painful topics, Virgil felt like they could almost get on. Except, of course, they needed to have a conversation soon that was going to be filled with nothing but painful topics and they couldn’t avoid those. Putting them off for another few moments felt like a good plan though, Virgil quietly following him down the stairs, letting his whole mind focus on the effort required just to go down them.

Each step felt marginally easier than the one that came before, as though his body was gradually relearning how to do everything and becoming stronger as a result. He no longer felt as tired as before and after so long in that bed, it felt wonderful to have even a fraction of energy back, to see something beyond glimpses of the same four walls. 

It wasn’t normal. Virgil had never nearly died before of course, but he had suffered more than his fair share of injuries and illnesses and he knew he shouldn’t feel this good, this quickly. Perks of being a werewolf now, just as Remy had said. Only... what did that mean exactly? There was no way it was all sunshine and rainbows, no way it was only positive things. There had to be a downside to this.

There was always a downside to something and not knowing what it was in this was eating away at him. It was even worse than his relationship with Dorian in some ways - at least he had gone into that with his eyes half open and a realistic idea of what he could expect. It had been worse than he had expected of course, but at least he had known some of it going in. Here, it was as though he was still wearing the blindfold from the forest and was just wandering around hopelessly lost. 

At the bottom of the stairs, Remy turned to the left. They moved through a corridor and into a large stonewalled kitchen. At the far end stood Patton. The curly haired man had his back to them, apparently engrossed in the large copper bowl he was working with and that suited Virgil just fine. It was hard enough to just see him and not completely panic, it would have been even worse if they had been forced to interact. 

Virgil felt his heartbeat pick up, fear prickling at the edge of his consciousness. Irrational, pathetic and yet there was no avoiding it, no pretending that the sight of Patton didn’t send something into a primitive part of his brain that was concerned with flight or fight alone. He didn’t want to be in the same room at him. If Virgil was thinking clearly, he might have wondered why Remy didn’t make him scared when surely Remy had done far worse to him. 

Somehow the hurt was different. Maybe it was because he had expected it from Remy when they had first met, and there had been no expectations to disappoint. Virgil had been so weak in that bed, so vulnerable and he had allowed himself to trust Patton only for that trust to be misplaced. That was what caused the panic, that betrayal of a feeble trust. Knowing the truth didn’t calm him but rather the opposite in fact, his heart not screaming at him as it charged along at a breakneck pace. 

Patton’s head suddenly jerked up as though he had heard something, spinning around to look at them, the large bowl in front of him forgotten. 

“Remy! ... and Virgil, you’re up.” Patton sounded surprised by the fact. More surprised than he had any right to be, Virgil’s eyebrow lifting at the tone. He swallowed down the urge to snap something rude, something about drugs and did Patton want him unconscious again. He wasn’t here to pick a fight with Patton - not least because he didn’t think he would win it and for all he knew, the currently smiling male might take an argument as an excuse to just drug him again.

Possibly unfair, he didn’t know Patton well enough to know if he was actually like that, but then Virgil never pretended to be generous. He wasn’t a good man, he wasn’t kind or optimistic. The bad thing had happened once before and that meant it could only too easily happen again. 

Still, the way in which he bit his tongue and forced back the harsh response wasn’t simply due to the fear of what Patton could potentially do. Like it or not, this man had apparently been the one to put him back together. Remy might have given him a wolf which gave him the advanced healing his body needed, but it had been Patton who had closed his wounds and made sure he made it through each hour. It was Patton who had pulled him back together. 

Patton who he owed his life to just as much as Remy. 

Patton who had gotten a whole lot closer in the time Virgil had been daydreaming, the shorter male blinking a couple of times. Suddenly, the blond was halfway across the room towards them, moving with a determined pace. Virgil couldn’t help the thought that flashed through his mind, the childish urge to want to step back and hide behind Remy. As though Remy would protect him. As if Remy was more worthy of his faith than the other when really Remy would probably throw him off a cliff again if it suited his needs. 

At the end of the day he couldn’t afford to trust either of them, it was just Patton made him panic more easily. 

“Since you’re feeling better, I was hoping the two of us could have a little chat, one on one?” Patton looked far too hopeful as he spoke, hands pressed together in a little praying motion, almost bouncing on his heels in excitement. As if talking was something to get excited about. Patton’s expression was one of pure innocence as if he had never done a thing wrong. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Virgil didn’t trust it one bit. 

This time when the panic rose up in him, it was impossible to push it back down. No matter his experience with panic attacks, when they were determined to overwhelm him they simply swept past all his defenses regardless of what he had done to try and protect himself. It was the way it had always been, and he could feel the terror closing up his throat, making it harder and harder to breathe.

A ringing began in his ears, something high pitched, a whining noise that clashed with the pounding drums that had to be his heart. An irregular rhythm that made his heart hurt. Or maybe that was just all the blood that was rushing around his body now that was making it hurt. All he really knew for sure was that it was getting harder and harder to think, eyes swimming with tears. That only made it harder to see, the world turning watery. Without good version how could he possibly keep an eye on Patton and make sure he wasn’t too close? 

He didn’t want to talk to Patton. Virgil especially didn’t want to talk to Patton on his own, no, no abort, abort. Each breath was a struggle, his chest painfully rising and falling. It was as though someone's arms were clamped around him, squeezing tightly in a hug that had long ago stopped being comforting and was now a cage. His whole body was a cage, some alien and remote. Tears started to gather in Virgil’s eyes, and why couldn’t he just breathe? What was wrong with him so that after all this time and this many years growing up, he still slipped back into this childish behaviour and couldn’t control himself. 

What sort of pathetic excuse for a human or werewolf couldn’t even manage to breathe normally just because someone wanted to talk to them? It wasn’t like Patton was going to try anything, not here. Not in public - although that hadn’t stopped him before had it. The thought just made him want to throw up, his stomach churning madly, all that recently eaten food threatening to return. Deep breaths were impossible right now, Virgil able to feel the rising nausa do battle with his inability to breathe. He couldn’t take this, he needed to get out of here but his legs felt like jelly. Virgil could barely convince his body to keep breathing, getting it to move like he wanted was out of the question. 

He felt like cornered prey, his body trembling involuntarily as he stood there, tears still burning at the edges of his eyes and Virgil wanted to run back upstairs, wanted to slam the door shut on that bedroom door as though it would somehow protect him from his own mind, from his own fears that would only chase after him. Along with who knows what else. 

“Actually Pat, I was going to show Virgil around the village, let him see where we live.” Remy’s voice broke into the spiral his thoughts had fallen into, the words sounded as though they were coming from a great distance away, and it took a painfully long few seconds to realise he was actually quite close. Somehow, the other wolf had managed to get in front of him, Virgil blinking rapidly as he stared at the back of the leather coat, the world coming back into some sort of focus. 

For the briefest of moments, the urge to take Remy by the hand and just cling on tight came to mind before it fell away once more, lost in the mists of confusion, fear and self loathing. 

Dorian had always been so impatient with his panic and fear. Really, Virgil couldn’t blame him. It was pathetic, a grown man getting scared of his own shadow, jumping over nothing. Any little thing could trigger his panic, his anxiety. Even something as simple as being touched without warning could be enough and that had angered the other man more than anything else. 

It wasn’t his fault - but then as Dorian would say, whose fault was it, if not Virgil’s own? 

Virgil’s own that he was weak, his own that he was broken and _wrong_ , that he forced other people to defend him and look after him. It was amazing that Dorian had been willing to put up with him at all and Virgil knew he should have been more grateful. Maybe if he hadn’t been afraid, if he hadn’t thought himself better despite his issues, he wouldn’t be here, shaking and afraid in a kitchen he didn’t know with a dangerous wolf bearing down on him. 

A hand took his own, heat seeping into his body. Only in that moment did Virgil realise he was cold. He gasped, breaking above the surface of ice, tears of humiliation still dripping down his face. Air. There was air. It was all around him, each breath chilling, freezing but at least it was air and each breath was easier than the one before. Ice met fire, his lungs hot from the pressure of not breathing. It made his chest hurt, his body feeling as though it being reformed over and over again. 

And all the while there was that hand holding his own, gentle and reassuring, tugging him forward, his legs stumbling a little as he moved, unable to resist. It wasn’t Patton. Somehow, he knew it wasn’t Patton touching him and that basic knowledge was enough for Virgil to let them guide him out of the darkened kitchen and outside. He felt that he was outside because there was fresh air hitting his face, there was a whole host of new scents, the smell of flowers, of other people. Of dirt and sweat, of fresh fruit from the trees. 

More as well. They were all blurring together, each scent overlapping the other. Fruit of some sort, but what? Flowers, but which? It was so much. Too much. Far, far too much and he couldn’t place them all, he couldn’t name them, let alone separate them. Virgil could feel a sob building up in his throat, something wild and desperate.

A sob was not the sound that came out. Instead, it was something rather like a snarl, aching and hurting, a wild, desperate noise that made him flinch, curling in deeper to himself. Virgil kept holding onto the hand, the only anchor left in his world, the only thing stopping him from snapping and getting lost completely. It was one thing to be able to breathe through the pain. It was quite another to be able to still a racing mind, a racing heart that had stimuli coming at him from all directions. Too much, too much, too much and only the hand made sense, the feel of warm calloused fingers against his own. 

A tiny little voice in the back of his mind knew who the hand belonged to. Who it had to belong to, but Virgil hadn’t been ready to face such a fact at first. Now though, now it slammed into him as the hand finally stopped leading him somewhere, Virgil able to feel a wall against his back, trying to ground himself in that as well as the hand. If it wasn’t Patton, then it had to be...

Remy. 

“Hey Virgil? Can you look at me?” Remy’s voice sounded worried. Virgil clung to that, tried to force himself to focus on his name and not the heartbeat that was pounding so heavily in his ears. He had to focus on the other werewolf. Remy was worried. Not mad or annoyed. Not simply demanding that he breathes, that he stop making a fool of himself or drawing attention to them both. Not huffing and snarling and listing all the ways Virgil was being an idiot or ruining whatever they had been originally doing. 

Just... worried. 

A strange kind of calmness lapped against his mind, a pulse of warmth that made him half snarl, half sob, mentally leaning into the strength that it seemed to offer him. It didn’t feel like Virgil’s own. It was too... strong for that, too delbriate. Even in his best moments, Virgil would never have been able to project that kind of calm and reassurance, would never have been able to convince himself that he actually felt like that. He would never have been that strong on his own, but where else could it come from if not himself? 

It pressed lightly against him, almost like some tangible presence, a warm blanket wrapping itself around him without suffocating and Virgil wanted nothing more than to let it do just that, allow the promise of it take away all his fear. It could as well, somehow he felt very sure of the fact that it could grant him the peace Virgil so desperately craved. Not for long of course, never for long. But it could help to pull him out of the hole he had crawled into, if only he would let it in. It was wrong. It wasn’t his and he should shy away from it. But it promised safety, an end to this and Virgil was so tired of suffering. He let the warmth seep into his mind, no matter the danger. It wrapped around his mind, soothing, comforting, whispering promises of safety. 

In that moment, despite the fear that was still pounding through him, Virgil could also feel the calmness, the two pressing against each other, lapping at each other’s shore. He shuddered, something long and heavy, body trembling under the stress of the moment. 

It was a strange contrast, the two emotions so different. They shouldn’t work together and they didn’t, at least not really. But they didn’t drown each other out either and Virgil could feel them both, the good and the bad, the softness of a calm he could sink into and the sharp cutting edge of a fear he could let himself be cut by. Virgil could reach out for either, and let them take him. He didn’t want both. He didn’t want either, not really. A calm that wasn’t his own or a fear that would destroy him, those were the choices his mind presented him. And under it all, churning against the wall were the tidal waves of sensations and feelings that he couldn’t quite articulate but were waiting to consume him whole. 

“Wildcat?” 

That name cut through the fear like a fire, consuming both good and bad emotions alike. Remy might not have used the word ‘my’, might not have laced it with a possessive title but Virgil could still hear it in the air around them, the unspoken claim that it represented and there was no time to worry about his, well, worry. Nor the unnatural calm that wasn’t his own. Not when he had that to deal with. 

Who needed calm when there was anger to hold onto? 

His eyes were closed. When had he closed his eyes? Virgil didn’t remember doing that. It took effort to open them, weights trying to drag them back down every time he tried to blink. Anger kept him going, the thought that Remy might use that title again, this time without the missing word if he took too long to fight his way back to the surface. 

With a great effort he pulled his eyelids apart, opening them and keeping them open, the world greedily rushing in and assaulting his senses. It didn’t seem quite as intense as before the scents and sounds dropping to a manageable level. It was a hum where before there had been a roar and Virgil could work with that, letting his mind slowly uncurl from the fetal position it had somehow slipped into. 

His back was against a wall, the splinters of wood digging into his patchwork shirt. It was uncomfortable but not really painful, just a slight press that he could hold onto in order to keep himself grounded. He was holding a hand, proof that he wasn’t alone in this, Virgil drawing in a wet gasp of air that sounded suspiciously like a sob. He was too tired to worry about that though, not when the rest of his thoughts finally kicked into action and he properly took in the hand he was holding, eyes lifting to follow the arm all the way up to the chest and face of the person with him. 

Remy was in front of him once more, glasses pushed back to the top of his head as he stared down at him. It was an eerie reminder of their first meeting in the forest. Virgil had been scared then too, scared almost out of his mind. At least Remy’s eyes were still green this time and he clung to that difference as if it proved that things would work out better this time around. 

There was a faint smile on Remy’s face, expression a confusing mix of relieved and almost... smug, pleased with himself once more and almost puppish in expecting some praise. Virgil could feel the anger start to fall away as he stared up at Remy, the cogs in his mind slowly turning once more. 

“Welcome back Virgil,” Remy told him fondly and there was no trace of the nickname now, no hint of anything untoward. Almost as though... almost as though...

"You did that on purpose," Virgil accused, tone half hearted at best. He felt completely drained by his panic, what little good the food had done long since spent. He wanted to just go back to bed but that would mean going back through the house with the chance of running into... running into the reason that he had gotten upset in the first place and he wasn’t anywhere close to ready to go through all of that again.

"Maybe a little," Remy admitted, still wearing that half pleased, half irritating smile. "It worked didn't it? Are you... are you okay? I was a little nervous for you, not going to lie.”

He was still holding Remy’s hand, Virgil noticed suddenly, the heat seeping into his skin. Virgil knew he had to pull away, that this was a weakness that he couldn’t afford, not when the other werewolf was still such an unknown quantity. After everything Remy had done to him, he should really let go.

But Remy had been nervous _for_ him. Not because of him, not ashamed of him or angry of him or any of the usual emotions he was used to seeing on Dorian’s face when he eventually climbed out of the hole of his own making. He had always had to climb out on his own as well, clawing his way past bitter, annoyed words. Remy hadn’t been angry, even though Virgil had gotten so worked up over something stupid. He had even done what he could to remove Virgil from the person that had caused him distress without being asked or complaining. 

Remy had just been worried for him and Virgil really didn’t know what to make of that information. Or the idea that maybe the wolf wasn’t just out for his flesh but might actually care in his own right. Virgil couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to think that someone might actually care about him as a person instead of what they might gain or how they could use him.

His breath caught in his throat once more, panic twisting his insides as he started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he had been wrong about Remy. If maybe this whole thing had actually been his own fault and it was so easy to blame someone else for his problems, to grow angry and bitter at what they had done to him. 

All the while denying what he had done to himself in turn, acting as though it wasn’t his fault. He was the one who had denied Dorian. He was the one who had refused to make a deal. It had been him and nobody else who had ran and ignored the cries to stop and listen. He who had then lost his footing and fell into injury. Virgil was a coward and a fool. He was lucky they hadn’t tossed him out on his ass after such behaviour, his heart picking up in speed. 

“Woah, woah, noooo, don’t... breathe with me? Can you breathe with me babes?” 

That strange calmness was back and maybe it was just because Virgil was starting to panic again but he could have sworn that there was a drop of nerves within that peace too, as if it wasn’t as in control as before. That made him want to panic all the more, but it was still a calmness that Virgil didn’t have on his own, and he had to focus on that over everything else. It would guide him back to the real world if he let it and Virgil was so tired of being afraid all of the time. Of losing himself so easily. He had just managed to get out of one panic attack, he wasn't going to just twist, turn and fall into another. 

Blindly, he reached out with his other hand. Somehow, Remy seemed to know what he was asking for without words, Virgil feeling a second hand clasp his, holding him tight. Another anchor into the stormy sea that was his mind, another piece of the puzzle he needed to regain control. He leaned forward a little, forehead resting against Remy’s and allowed himself to think of nothing but calm, comfort and the rise and fall of twin chests as he sought to keep his breathing steady. 

In and out, in sync with Remy, the wolf that had saved him twice over it seemed.


	8. Careful What You Wish For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Well._
> 
> _Virgil wanted the truth. He’s about to get his wish._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! And in record time! This story has been on my mind a lot recently, which is why it has another chapter so quickly. 
> 
> Thank you so very much for all your comments, they are greatly treasured. This is a pretty world and character heavy chapter, building on things and a chance to take a couple of breaths before we get into the next drama of the story. Did I say drama? I meant all the cute and fuzzy stuff that happens, with no stressful moments at all!
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come find me at @theeternalspace

** **

### Careful What You Wish For

** **

Eventually, embarrassment started to overcome the dregs of the panic. In those moments Virgil had recovered enough to really take in the fact he was holding both of Remy’s hands and pressed against him. He didn’t even really know what had possessed him to do that but somehow it hadn’t been the end of the world to let Remy help him although Virgil worried he would never live it down.

Then again Remy wasn’t making any stupid comment or drawing attention to the moment. He had his eyes closed, breathing deeply and steadily. It gave Virgil a chance to stare at him without being watched in turn, eyes going a little cross eyed as he looked closely at the fact of the other werewolf. Why was Remy being so nice to him? Was it a pity thing? Or was it just for his own benefit, keep the new wolf calm so he didn’t have to deal with yet more terror? That was probably it. Or something along those lines, just trying to stop a problem from getting any worse for his own sake. 

The possibilities were endless and in Virgil’s mind at least, all negative and troubling. All proof of what a waste of space he really was and how this whole group would be better off without him dragging them down or distracting Remy. Even Patton would be better off it he didn’t have to feel guilty about hurting Virgil. Or if Virgil could just ignore his own feelings and pretend to forgive him. That was what he should do. He should act as if he was the bigger man and let Patton off without any more fuss. Patton would probably appreciate not having to talk to him like that or apologise properly. It would be easier for them all and then Patton wouldn’t have to feel guilty or whatever it was that was driving him to behave the way he had.

Virgil still couldn’t help but feel his breath stutter a little in his chest whenever he thought of actually speaking to the curly haired wolf. 

Maybe another day. 

Right now he just needed to focus on himself. On this moment. On the fact that he was still holding Remy’s hands, that he was still breathing in sync with Remy and that it was still far more comfortable than it had any right to be. As if he had known Remy for years instead of days - or, more realistically, hours. 

“I’m fine now,” he muttered at last, pulling away from the physical contact when it shifted from being comforting to making his skin start to crawl at all the shame and humiliation because this had to just be pity. Remy being kind because he had to, because he seemed fairly important around here from the way everyone else acted. It was just Remy doing what he thought was the right thing to do, not because he cared for Virgil himself. 

Remy didn’t protest as he pulled away and that only proved that he was as relieved as Virgil that this was over and he had to stop pretending to care about him. But then again, if Remy had tried to hold on, if he had ignored Virgil’s very clear wishes to end the physical contact, then that would have been just as bad, just as strong evidence that the wolf didn’t care about him. 

If Virgil couldn’t understand his own thought process, it was perhaps a little unfair to want Remy to know the right thing to say or do but someone should surely. There had to be someone who understood and whoever it was, Virgil really needed them to step up and start explaining stuff because his head was starting to hurt a little. 

The other werewolf looked away, absently running his middle finger against the inside of his other palm, doodling a small circle on the skin there. He looked completely normal, non threatening and Virgil had to force himself to focus on the memories of before, of the cold look in gold eyes, the barely restrained fury as he had pulled out a blade. Virgil believed now that he had never intended to use the weapon on Virgil himself, he was willing to go that far, but it still didn’t explain everything else. Why had he been so angry? And most importantly of all, why couldn’t Remy have just said something to try and explain himself?

Anything would have been better than the bone chilling silence that had convinced Virgil he was seconds away from his doom.

Like then, they really needed to talk now.

Virgil knew they did, but he didn’t know how to actually start it, how to express even a fraction of the confusion or questions. He had been feeling like that a lot lately, with no escape in sight. There didn’t seem to be an answer here either.

“Wanna walk around? I can show you our digs, we can pop in to say hi to Roman or Logan? There are others too but I figured let's meet the people you already know.” 

No other comment? No mention of how Virgil owed him now or that he really shouldn’t panic because there was nothing to be scared of? Virgil knew he should be grateful that Remy wasn’t going down that route, wasn’t making some comment that would dig deep into his skin and leave a mental scar but he somehow felt more exposed for the lack of an insult. At least - as sad it it sounded - he knew where he stood when someone belittled him. 

There was solid ground in an insult, in a cruel word or look which caused blood to fall. This... kindness, was altogether a more ethereal thing, something he felt he could fall through and not know where he might land. Virgil couldn’t remember the last time someone had been kind to him without any ulterior motive. He just wished Remy would admit it so they could just move on with it already. 

Virgil scowled and wrapped his hands around his chest and the patchwork shirt. What he wouldn’t give for one of his coats to be able to hide in. Instead he was stuck feeling exposed and unhappy, unable to do anything but follow Remy out of the secluded area they had managed to find themselves. They walked, passing by a couple of the houses. They looked normal enough, the whole place looked normal. A collection of about ten houses that would have seemed like any other village in the area. People were milling around outside, on their way from this building to that, all seemingly relaxed and calm. 

If it wasn’t for the fact that it was in the middle of the forest, the trees lining the whole circle or the knowledge that it was filled with werewolves, he could have easily believed this was just any other village he had stumbled into. It made Virgil wonder if perhaps the opposite held true as well, if among the humans that lived around the outside of the forest, perhaps they were not all human. 

How would he even tell? Remy had eyes which glowed on occasion but from what Logan had said the others were wolves too and he hadn’t seen any evidence from any of them of any wolf like behaviour. Plus he didn’t look any different on the outside or feel any different on the inside. There was no bravery or savagery, something he might have expected from becoming an animal but maybe that wasn’t the way this worked. Virgil just didn’t know enough. They were still walking. They were still not talking. 

Virgil was going to have to start the conversation. This was going to _suck_. 

“So... what, I’m a werewolf, I can just turn into a wolf, grr, arrg?” Virgil lifted his hands up to his mouth as he spoke, fingers curling into little curved claws and teeth. He was trying to lighten the mood, to find some way to talk about the wolf in the room without triggering more terror on his part but there didn’t really seem to be an easy way to do it. At least Virgil could think that he was a werewolf without feeling an equal tide of panic. And he was more than ready for answers to all the burning questions in his mind. 

“Well... it isn’t quite that simple but I am totally stealing that into,” Remy replied, tone light. Deceptively so and Remy seemed like a terrible liar. Virgil could always sense when he was holding something back, glasses over his eyes or not. 

“Oh, of course it's not,” Virgil stated flatly, hands dropping back down to his side as he just barely resisted the urge to slap one over his face in dismay. “Why would it ever be simple?” 

Remy finally came to a step, fidgeting slightly as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. It was strange to see him all hunched up, almost defensive, something inside of him feeling uncomfortable at the sight. And not the usual brand of discomfort that he was used to, one born of either embarrassment at messing up or fear of what might happen next. This was discomfort aimed squarely at the fact that Remy was uncomfortable, some strange little tug in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like the idea that Remy was unhappy but there was no other explanation for the way he held himself. 

“Eventually sure it’s all grr, arrg like you said babes. Until then... in moments of extreme emotions you might find yourself transforming, control takes a while to master and I’ll teach you but none of that will happen till after your first transformation, after your first full moon.” 

Finally, some information, Virgil frowning a little as he focused on the words and doing his level best to ignore that strange feeling that was still lingering, the one that wanted him to just drop this, to stop pushing and wait until Remy was ready to share. If he waited, he might die of old age before the other wolf worked up the courage to have a conversation he clearly didn’t want to have. Virgil was projecting just a little - he was of the belief that you should never have a conversation you could put off till tomorrow. 

Still, at least Remy had told him a little, had given him somewhere to start. There was something about the words that didn’t make sense though. A nagging little thought that crawled through his mind and refused to be silenced as he instinctively searched for the trick, the punchline to his existence. 

“Wait, someone said I had been asleep for a while? Surely the first full moon has come and gone?”

Remy somehow managed to scrunch himself even further into his jacket and look more uncomfortable as if he had hoped that Virgil wouldn’t ask that question. 

“We kept you sedated during the moon, the damage could have been terrible if you had transformed while you were still healing. We thought it best to keep you under and human while you recovered and then we could all help you get through it once you were well.” 

“So... instead of letting me get it out of the way while I was unconscious you decided it would be much better for me to be awake and aware of it?” That wasn’t the point. Virgil knew it wasn’t the point, he was in no mood for more pain and from what Remy said it would have been nothing but pain. But the agony, the danger it presented wasn’t the issue here for all that Virgil was using it as his example. What was important here was the choice.

Or rather, yet again, the lack of it. 

It didn’t matter that he would have undoubtedly have agreed that the best way forward was the way that didn’t end in his possible death. It was still another example of something important about his own life, some choice that had huge ramifications for him and they just made the decision on his behalf, as though he wasn’t important enough to even consult. 

“Virgil that wasn’t... we didn’t... I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Sure you didn’t. Let’s just... drop it for now.” Virgil felt too tired after his panic attack to pick a fight just now, but the hurt was still there, bubbling away under the surface and just waiting for an excuse to break free. He was going to be angry about it later no doubt but it as hard to muster up the energy he needed to maintain that level of fury when most of him just wanted to curl up in a heap and go back to sleep. There would be plenty of time to be angry and upset tomorrow. There always was.

There was something else bugging Virgil though, something beyond the feeling of helplessness that was threatening to drown everything else. There was still the feeling. That feeling. Feelings that had saved him but couldn’t be explained, feelings that he shouldn’t have. Virgil was painfully aware of his own flaws and weaknesses, he knew what he was capable of and he shouldn’t have been able to climb out of that hole on his own in the speed he had. 

Not to mention there was the fact that Remy had known he was in trouble almost before Virgil had been able to form the thought himself. 

“Can you... you knew I was panicking. Both times, how did you know?” Maybe Remy just knew the signs of a panic attack. Maybe he had been watching Virgil carefully and knew enough to at least know something was wrong. Maybe Remy had just wanted to get them out of there because he wanted to talk to Virgil himself first and it was only after he started talking that he realised something was wrong and acted accordingly. Maybe it was a completely innocent coincidence. 

But Virgil didn’t _believe_ in coincidences. 

There was no such thing, there was just unpleasant surprises that you hadn’t learnt the truth about yet. Virgil couldn’t help his own suspicious nature, just as wolves couldn’t help but do whatever it was that they did. The way in which Remy looked away for a moment to stare at the trees lining the little village didn’t help in the slightest and Virgil could feel a knot of worry forming in his stomach about that expression to go with the steadily growing knot in his stomach 

At this rate he was going to throw up all that food he had eaten simply to make room for the worry knots that had appeared and were rapidly expanding to fill every space left in his stomach. They rubbed against each other, leaving an aching mess that made his stomach hurt, made him feel like his plan of just curling up into a ball and hiding until the sun and Remy went away sound more a more appealing by the second. 

The pain in his stomach would still be there when he woke up, of course. Possibly even worse because his mind would have had chance to twist and turn in on itself. 

Combined with his tiredness, it wasn’t such a great day for Virgil. And he really wasn’t up to giving Remy the benefit of the doubt, not when he still looked so shifty, so close to spitting out some unfortunate truth, Virgil feeling his own expression slipping into a deeper scowl the longer they just stood there, the rest of the village moving around them like two stones in a slow flowing river. 

“I can sense your emotions a teeny tiny bit.” Remy at least had the grace to look sheepish by his admission as he lifted a hand, forefinger and thumb almost touching as though to visual just how small the ability really was. Anything was far too much, because that meant that not even his own mind was safe from Remy. Even during the worst days, Virgil had been able to think and feel as he liked, without anyone being any the wiser, but it seemed as though that was being ripped away from him and he was left with nowhere to hide any more. 

His expression spoke volumes and it probably didn’t take having a sneak peak into his emotions to know how hurt he felt by what Remy had just said.

“I had to help you,” Remy said weakly. 

Help him. Help him by getting him out of there? That was what he did and if he felt the panic it made sense that he would want to help Virgil become calm in order to not have to feel that fear, even second hand. No, that wasn’t quite it, Remy wouldn’t look that shifty and guilty if it was something as simple as that. If it wasn’t that, then what? The only other thing had been- the only... other thing... had been...

“The calm... that was you?” Virgil whispered faintly, struggling to contain his still pulsing molten hurt. Remy knew what he was feeling, Remy could feel it and he didn’t want Remy to know this, it wasn’t any of his business, it wasn’t fair. Then again, fair never really seemed to matter when it came to his life. Virgil had known, of course, that it wasn’t natural and if it wasn’t coming from him, then it had to have come from somewhere else but he still hadn’t been ready to truly follow that train of thought to its logical conclusion. 

Anger swirled with hurt, disbelief that Remy would do that. Time and time again, he thought he had told Remy exactly how hurt he was by his lack of agency, by any and all choices taken from his hands. Time and time again, he believed Remy was actually listening and learning. 

Time and time again, he was betrayed.

“I can teach you how to block it!” Remy told him, eyes widening as he no doubt took in every flicker and shimmer of feeling that was passing through Virgil’s mind. He could feel everything couldn’t he. All his feelings were like an open book to the other wolf. Virgil focused very hard on thinking of how much of a jerk Remy was. And how he hated him for this, how violated he felt by it. How he carefully added it to the list of other things that Virgil hated about Remy, repeating the list over and over in his mind, trying to let every feeling he could fill him. 

He deliberately didn’t think about the good things or the more positive emotions that Remy was capable of stirring in him. Virgil wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of brooding on how strangely soft and good Remy’s hands had felt in his own, or the rush of safety he had felt when he realised that Remy was determined to look after him - that one had been all his own feelings, tinted with a familiar panic and regret that made it impossible to deny as his own. 

He really needed to learn how to block it didn’t he. 

Remy sighed, hand lifting to adjust his collar, looking more and more uncomfortable. Good. Virgil shouldn’t be the only one suffering in this conversation and he let his eyes narrow, thinking more petty, spiteful thoughts. Virgil had no clue if thoughts were transmitted as well as feelings - Remy hadn’t said so, but then as Virgil was quickly coming to believe, Remy was a sneaky little liar that would probably deny there were flames if he was on fire. Either way, he wasn’t going to take the chance. Remy would get the impression of what he was feeling if nothing else. A little ball of spite and rage. That summed Virgil up perfectly. 

“We’re linked Virgil, I don’t make the rules. Your wolf was made by mine, we’re connected, a bond of sorts. I can’t help it just as much as you but I can teach you how to close it so you don’t share anything you don’t want to.” 

That implied that there might be something that he wanted to share or that Remy might expect him to be more open down the line. Virgil didn’t even bother trying to hide his disbelief at that - what would be the point when he didn’t know how? 

He wanted to learn this magic that Remy spoke of. No, he needed to. Because his mind was always his last refuge and for all that he focused on his childish thoughts, Virgil needed that hole to hide in. It was all the more cruel to be thrown into a brave new world and have every scrap of safety torn from his shivering form. 

“It works the other way round too you know,” Remy offered, as though that somehow made it better, made it right. “If I were to open my mind then you would be able to feel what I was feeling... if you like?”

Virgil needed to get _out_ of this conversation and fast. 

It wasn’t as though he wanted to feel whatever it was that the other werewolf would feel. He certainly didn’t want to get guilted into it. For all that he was furious at the other wolf, Remy deserved some privacy just as much as Virgil did. He had no right to go poking about in someone else's head, especially when consent was only offered as pity. It wasn’t as though Remy really wanted him to know what he was feeling - who would want Virgil to know such secrets? What made him so special he would believe even for a second that he had that right? 

Virgil turned away before he said something he might regret, staring out across the village. Everyone was a stranger and it struck him all over again, how alone he really was in this place. He didn’t know anyone beyond a few brief encounters with the wolves and none of them had inspired much trust within him. 

Remy was dangerous, to his thoughts as well as his soul. Patton was too liberal with his drugs for Virgil to want to relax around him, too aware and fearful of saying the wrong thing and being pushed back into sleep as a result. And Roman just seemed downright insane. The least threatening of the pair, and really what did that say about them, that he would consider a wolf he thought of as insane, as someone who was the safest? 

Roman might be dramatic and annoying but he had never tried to hurt Virgil as the others had. He didn’t have a back door he had made into Virgil’s mind, one that let him feel his panic, fear and any other... stray emotions that might pass through him, emotions that Virgil was doing his level best not to think about. Which meant not thinking about the way the sun was probably catching Remy’s hair right now. Or how he wondered what colour his eyes were behind those shades in this moment, if they sparkled with the green of nature and freedom or would the savage beauty of the golden wolf.

A flash of dark hair caught his eye, a man standing a couple of doors down. Virgil suddenly snapping to attention as he realised there was one person that while he might not know, was at least safer than the other options. It hadn’t just been werewolves he had met after all. 

“Logan!” Oh he had never been happier to see... well anyone. Virgil wasn’t a people person, he didn’t like them, didn’t know them or how to talk to them. Given the chance he would rather hide in a corner out of the way of everyone but then this wasn’t a normal situation and that didn’t appear to be an option. Logan at least understood a little of what he was feeling, he had to. Logan, unlike the other three, knew what it was like to be abandoned for dead by those you had known all your life. He knew what it was like to be thrown into a strange new world and told to sink or swim. 

Logan cocked his head to the side before turning to walk towards them both. Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil could see Remy shift his stance a little, a hint of a pout on his face, but he made no move to try and stop Virgil or chase the other man away.

For the briefest of moments, Virgil almost felt torn. Remy had been kind to him, kinder than anyone had in a long time, the whole nearly killing him none withstanding. He had looked out for him, had protected him and even walked him through getting out of a panic attack. Virgil couldn’t even remember the last time someone had stayed with him through a whole one and then not berated him for his weakness. That alone was almost enough to make him second guess his choice and stay with the werewolf for a little longer. 

Almost. 

Remy had also tricked him, had invaded his mind and forced his own choices and decisions upon him. He had done that after Virgil had made it quite clear how much he hated having that taken from him, after he knew how highly Virgil valued his freedom, purely for the fact that he normally had so little of it. 

Logan at least had been honest in their brief interactions. Sometimes brutally so, but at least he had never taken away his choice and had in fact seemed angry with Remy for doing that to him. That was what Virgil needed right now, an escape from the insanity that his life seemed to have become, to talk to someone who agreed that it was insanity. If only so Virgil could try and catch his breath. 

“Virgil.” Logan’s eyes flickered to look over his shoulder for a moment before he refocused back on him. The bespectacled man’s jaw tightened just a fraction, a barely there tic that Virgil probably wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t been staring intently at his face, silently begging him to take pity on Virgil and get him out of this situation. 

“Would you like to see my home?” 

“Oh god, yes please.” Virgil felt himself sag a little in relief at those words and he hadn’t actually thought it would work, that Logan would be able to hear everything he wasn’t saying. They barely knew each other and yet Logan was saving the day for him. He stepped away from Remy, able to feel the weight on his shoulders lift with every foot away from the other wolf, with every step that took him towards a temporary freedom and avoidance of awkwardness. 

"We will, uh, talk later?" There was clear disappointment in Remy's voice as he spoke, Virgil not trusting himself to look around and back at him. If he saw the expression of sorrow then he didn’t know what he would do - but he knew it wouldn’t be what he wanted or needed. No doubt he would end up staying, awkwardly shuffling after Remy and throwing himself into another panic attack because he had been too weak to stand up for himself.

Virgil truly hated being guilted into things. He hated that he was that sort of person, that people could look at him and know that they could twist him like that. That even though Virgil knew his own flaws and weaknesses, he couldn’t work out a way to overcome them. It didn’t matter how much Virgil told himself in the past not to give in to sad eyes and a sob story, he always found himself doing just that. The only way to win was to refuse to play. 

"Yeah, later," Virgil agreed. Later when he had time to wrap his mind around the idea that the werewolf could feel everything he could. Later, when Virgil probably understood that there really was no getting away from all of this, when he could accept that this was real and lasting, and he needed to make the best of it. Then he might be ready to at least learn how to block it - Virgil knew with a clarity that escaped most of his thoughts, that he wouldn’t be ready to talk to Remy properly until he had that safety of his own mind in hand once more. 

For a moment, Virgil felt a surge of disappointment, a heated sorrow that didn’t feel like his own. He felt acceptance as well and almost... was that pride? It felt like pride, pride towards Virgil for taking this stance, for refusing to back down, knowing his own mind. That certainly wasn’t his own thoughts or feelings, Virgil didn’t feel pride for how he was acting but rather a gritty sort of guilt that lodged in his throat and refused to back down. 

Pale eyes widened as he realised that Remy had to be sharing his feeling with him, that he was getting a taste of what the wolf was experiencing right now. So it truly did work both ways, Virgil lifting a hand to press it against his own heart, trying to find its beat amongst the onslaught of other emotions. 

It was a nice gesture but again it was without Virgil’s choice, it was a complete lack of consent and it was a violation of its own right. 

He swallowed heavily, and Virgil couldn’t allow himself to get distracted or even acknowledge it. He wouldn’t let himself be distracted. It was all very well and good for Remy to share a slice of what he was feeling now, but he could still control it, he could turn it on and off whereas Virgil had no choice in the matter, leaving Remy with a front row seat to all his feelings. Showing him a bit of what he was feeling but still remaining in control of it all didn’t make them even, not by a long shot.

“Farewell Remy,” Logan said, nodding in the direction Virgil had walked from. He didn’t say anything else, merely turning and heading off down one of the side roads, simply expecting Virgil to follow. At least Virgil didn’t need to make any small talk and that was a relief all of its own, because he was equally bad at small talk as he was at any other sort of talking. 

They didn’t really say anything until Logan nodded towards one of the small buildings, pointing it out as his own home. 

Virgil eyed the crushed stems of the faded orange flowers that sat dejectedly to the side of Logan’s front door. They had clearly been mangled by hand and just as clearly been done on purpose. He wouldn’t have thought that Logan was the violent type and yet the broken flowers told a completely different story. 

“Dude, what did the flowers do to piss you off so much?” 

“Roman’s idea of a joke,” Logan explained simply as though that was answer enough. Virgil wasn’t really sure how you could express a joke in flowers but if that was what Logan said, then who was he to argue? It was probably some insider joke, the sort that Virgil had never understood because he had never been lucky enough to be part of a group like that. 

Mentally, he made a note to ask Logan for more details later, once they got more comfortable around each other. If there was a later of course, if he didn’t screw this up like he tended to screw up most things in his life. Virgil wasn’t very hopeful about that. Screwing things up was pretty much what he did and one of the few things that he was good at. Becoming a werewolf surely opening up the possibility of more disastrous encounters, not less. 

The inside of the small cottage was comfortably furnished, Logan waving Virgil towards one of the seats before settling himself down on another, his hands folded neatly on his lap. 

“So. Do you wish to tell me why you are avoiding a conversation with Remy? I am, I freely admit, not the most confident when it comes to recognizing people’s moods but even I could tell how desperate you were to get away from him. What did he say that distressed you so much?” Logan’s words were clear and precise, a hint of curiosity in them yet they didn’t seem as pointed as Remy’s own, they didn’t make him want to throw up. Not yet anyway, and Virgil knew how quickly his feelings could change. 

He had to enjoy this while it lasted. He also needed to give Logan an answer, the dark haired human still staring at him. The steady and unwavering gaze had Virgil move uncomfortably in his seat, trying to think up a decent answer. 

“I dunno.” 

Fantastic. A brilliant answer, Virgil mentally scolding himself, his frustration at his own incompetence growing. Something Remy would no doubt be able to feel, the reminder shocking him into cold awareness, Virgil pushing all his emotions away from him. Logan sighed, pulling his glasses off to clean the lenses for a moment with the bottom of his shirt, the movement so clearly automatic that it made a hint of a smile cross Virgil’s face. 

“Remy did save your life Virgil. As much as you might not agree with his methods, I think you owe it to himself and to you, to at least hear what he has to say. Not to mention he will undoubtedly have some useful information about the situation you now find yourself in. You would be foolish to reject him as a source of information despite your personal feelings on his behaviour.” 

Logan’s voice had taken on the aspect of a teacher, almost lecturing now, going over the steps one at a time. It was clearly a role he was born to play, and idly Virgil wondered if there were children in the village. Did werewolves have children? His own village had been known to throw children as young as fourteen into the woods but for all he knew some of the others gave up ones even younger. Who looked after them? Who taught them? Who comforted them? Because so far, everyone he met was really, _really_ bad at the whole comforting scared people thing. 

Not counting the last panic attack. 

“Virgil?” Logan’s voice broke into his thoughts, dragging him away from the fantasy he had been weaving around himself in a bid to avoid everything and back to the topic at hand. 

“He took away my choice Logan. I thought you understood? You seemed so angry at him for what he did and now, what, you think I should sit down to tea with him and be his friend?” Virgil could feel betrayal creeping into his voice as he spoke, inwardly cringing a little at how it broke and wavered. “Remy had no right to do what he did and my feelings aren’t going to change about that.”

“Would you rather be dead?”

“What?”

“A simple question. Would you rather be dead? I understand the desire to have free will and share it, but at the end of the day, it simply becomes would you rather die? And if not, you have to acknowledge that for all his flaws and for the utterly terrible way in which he went about it, Remy did you a favour when he saved your life.” 

Well. When Logan put it that way, sure he had a point. Virgil didn’t want to die at the end of the day. His mad dash had been proof of that, a frantic struggle against the very real fear that this had been his last few moments. He had fought and screamed with an energy that Virgil hadn't realised he possessed, a desperation born out of a deep seated desire to see the next morning. But that wasn't the point. Remy saved his life sure and Virgil _was_ grateful for that... but at the same time it had been nothing more than duty. Than what he had to do and that hurt too. To owe his life based on that.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I owe him. He felt bad for me, he saved my life out there but come on, it isn’t like he had a choice or anything.” Virgil wrapped his arms around his chest as he spoke, words slipping out in a series of soft little huffs and he knew all this. He knew it already, he knew that he owed his life to Remy just as he knew that he still wished it had ended any other way. Why couldn't Remy have just spoken to him in the woods? Why had it ended as a mad dash through trees and rain?

"Falsehood. Of course he had a choice," Logan said, tone now like one someone might take when speaking to a small child or someone particularly dumb. It was amazing how he could change the effect of his voice to effortlessly, how easily it could slip to something that made Virgil sit up and take notice despite himself. Here was a man that commanded respect, that demanded attention. As unpleasant as the topic was, Virgil still wanted to hear what he had to say.

"Remy was under no obligation to save your life. You were not 'his pack' at the time and were in fact, a trespassing human. He would have been well within his rights to leave you to die and I doubt he would have lost any sleep over it if that was the route he elected to take. The fact that he did not choose to let you die speaks volumes and is worthy of reflection.” Logan held up a hand as he spoke, ticking off his points as he went. There was a gleam in his eyes, Logan clearly warming to his theme and enjoying himself greatly. It only proved that he was born to teach - or at the very least to lecture and really, there was no difference between the two. 

Not that Virgil was in any mood to notice such details. He was still struggling to come to terms with the overall theme. Remy... didn't have to save his life? It had actually been a choice?

What? 

It seemed as though this conversation was going to be as confusing as every other one that had come before and Virgil was half wishing he had stayed with Remy. At least that one, he had been expecting the confusion, whereas this one managed to blindside him in a completely new way. 

"Explain," he finally croaked out, needing more facts, something solid. How could Logan say Remy had a choice? What else did they _do_ when they went to collect a human left to die? Logan’s very existence proved that they saved the lives of those given to them. As did the lack of any bodies being found. Yet now Logan was saying this was not the case?

“You must understand that these werewolves have their own brand of morality, their own view of right and wrong. Of course the concepts of good and bad as we understand them are arguably meaningless, because we can assign any preferred characteristics to either-”

Virgil held up a hand, cutting off Logan mid flow and he would feel bad about that later but right now his whole mind was spinning and it he needed a second to try and find something safe to grip onto and claw his way back with. Sure he had asked for details but somehow, he hadn't actually been expecting a real answer.

“Logan, not the time. Rewind a moment for me yeah? Remy... it was odd that he saved my life?”

The other man nodded seriously, somehow sitting up a little straighter in his chair, a feat that Virgil would not have thought possible. 

“You would not have been the first human they failed to rescue from the woods. Remy made the deliberate choice to save you Virgil, not because he felt as though he had to, but because, for whatever reason he wanted to."

"Why?"

"I am afraid you will have to ask Remy that yourself. I barely understand what goes on in any werewolf’s head. They seem to abhor logical behaviour and predictable patterns as humans understand them. They certainly have some strong animal traits when it comes to their pack mentality and are wary of outsiders. It is more common for them to collect a human before insisting they move to a village of their own. Occasionally, a human is ill when they are discovered. My... predecessor from my village was one such. She was too ill and did not survive. I had hoped to meet her but it was not to be.” 

This whole conversation was starting to make Virgil feel very uncomfortable, his skin flushed red and he didn’t like talking about this. It made Virgil feel... arrogant almost, that he had survived when other people had died. As well as so much more confused by everything and he had wanted more answers, not more questions. He stood, a restless energy within him compelling him to move, something inside of him squirming and trying to break free. Virgil paced backwards and forwards, glancing out of the window every time he passed it, just to make it appear as if he had some purpose beyond a sudden surge of excess energy for moving at all. 

"What about Roman? How are flowers a joke?" Virgil blurted out and he needed to change the subject to, well, anything else. Anything other than this new weight that whispered to him, demanding to know why he was considered worthy of being saved, becoming a werewolf, when others were not. Logan blinked a couple of times, expression slipping into something more neutral, more reserved. Gone was the enjoyment of teaching that had been visible mere moments before, gone was the almost smile that had threatened to curl onto his lips leaving a living statue in its place. 

Virgil turned away, staring out of the window. He forced himself to stand still once more, to keep his focus on the few people that were passing by the building instead of Logan behind him, because he couldn't bare to look at the other man any longer, not when he had ruined this. Virgil had known he was going to ruin it, that he would do or say something to make Logan not want to like him anymore. He should have known that Roman would be a sore subject but like an idiot he had needed to know the answer to the flowers riddle, like a selfish fool he had needed the pressure off himself and his feelings. 

"Roman is... a prime example of werewolves and their puzzling behaviour.” Logan began at last, each word slow and careful, as if he was taking his time before selecting them. “He is not at all as I originally suspected. He lives for the hunt and to be denied his prey only makes him that much more determined to gain it. No doubt he will lose interest once his goal is achieved but..” 

"Roman is-" 

"I am getting to that," Logan interrupted sharply, Virgil feeling his shoulders hunch up in response, a twinge of annoyance at himself running through his thoughts at how quickly he had managed to mess this up. “As I was saying-”

"No, I mean, Roman is coming up the path towards us,” Virgil told him with a brisk shake of his head as he watched the other werewolf advance on the building. There was a determined expression on his face, a fresh bunch of flowers clenched tightly in his hands and Logan never had explained the joke. Maybe Virgil would find out in person.

"Falsehood!" Logan's voice was shrill, Virgil flinching a little and lifting a hand to his ear as though he could belatedly block out the sound. 

"Why... why would I lie about that?" Virgil asked, too confused by the reaction to even consider being annoyed. Logan shook his head, climbing to his feet and hurrying towards the back of the room, where the entrance to the upper floor was located. Virgil found himself moving too, following Logan, too bewildered to think about doing anything else. 

"I have already had to deal with him today, I am not mentally prepared to spar with him once more. No doubt he saw my earlier refusal as a challenge, I should have anticipated he would return. I said as much just now, that he sees rejection as merely an excuse to try harder. Tell him I'm not home," Logan snapped, vanishing up the stairs as he finished his rant and leaving Virgil completely alone.

Not home? He was supposed to lie to someone he barely knew? Worst, he was supposed to lie badly? Roman was never going to believe such a thing, why on earth would Virgil be alone in Logan’s home? Even if he could somehow make it sound realistic, it wasn’t like he knew Roman well enough to convince him to leave them in peace. Virgil opened his mouth, intent on shouting at Logan to come back down and face Roman himself, to not abandon Virgil like that when a sound made him freeze, colour draining a little from his face. 

There was a knock at the door.


	9. Knocking on Logan’s Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Virgil and Roman confront each other. Some moments they seem to almost understand each other._
> 
>  
> 
> _It’s the other moments that linger._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, welcome, to another chapter. Time for some character development, some fun conversations and Roman being the best boy he can. Enjoy this moment, because I’m not sure they are going to be breathing easily next chapter... we shall see.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, it really means everything when you leave a comment or kudo, I’m so glad you’re all still with me in this mad trip.
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come find me at @theeternalspace

** **

### Knocking on Logan’s Door

** **

The knock sounded again, shaking Virgil out of his downward spiral of panic. He had no idea how long he had simply stood there, freaking out over the fact that he was now alone downstairs and Logan expected him to somehow fend Roman off but it had clearly been long enough for Roman to grow impatient and try again. Right. He was meant to answer the door. He was meant to... talk to someone.

It was like a test - and Virgil had always been terrible at those. 

He found himself wanting to try all the same though, to prove himself to Logan. If it was a choice between the two, then he would have to pick Logan because he could at least talk to him. Not that Virgil wanted to lay a marker on who he liked and who by comparison he had declared he didn’t like, so quickly but as with so many things in his life these days, it was becoming apparent that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. 

Virgil swallowed heavily and forced himself to move closer to the door. Now that he was focused on it and thus on Roman beyond it, Virgil found he could make out all sorts of sounds and scents he just hadn’t noticed before. He could hear the sound of Roman breathing, the soft click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he stood there. 

There was a heady mix of smell too, now that Virgil thought about it. A distinctly floral smell that threatened to completely overwhelm the scenes of grass, pine needles, and nature in general. And over it all, was the steady drum beat of... well, Virgil didn’t know exactly what he was hearing. It marched at an even tempo, a soft pounding that didn’t change. It was simply there. There was a second one as well, this one much faster and closer, as if the rapid beat was coming from inside the house and there was an unpleasant thought that Virgil didn’t want to continue. He didn’t want to know where the second beat was coming from. All this thinking was making his head hurt. 

But if he could hear that... then that surely meant that Roman could hear it too and probably his footsteps as well. That he knew very well there was someone on the other side of the door. 

Not trusting himself to think any further and not wanting to give himself a chance to try and talk his thoughts in vicious circles, Virgil yanked open the door. A bunch of bright red flowers of some sort were instantly thrust into his face, obscuring everything else. Just red, red and more red. Virgil had seen enough red to last a lifetime, the colour making him swallow lightly and think about a fall that had felt like an eternity. No, no, he wasn’t going to think about that. Or the sound of his own wet laughter. That way lay madness. 

“For you, light of my life!”

It was overpowering, the stink of those flowers and they were right in his face, Virgil turning his head to the side in order to gag a little. He wasn’t going to throw up. He wasn’t. Not in front of Roman. Not in Logan’s house. 

Gritting his teeth, Virgil lifted a hand to push the flowers that were far too red for his liking away from his face. 

“Roman,” he greeted shortly, tone clipped and to the point. People were always telling him that he was too rude. Dorian had always said that, listed it among his many flaws, as one of the many reasons why nobody else would ever put up with him. Virgil couldn’t really argue that point but perhaps he could use it to his advantage today. If he was rude enough, Roman might leave without much effort and then okay, that would be someone else who hated him but they were bound to get to that end anyway. Virgil might as well hurry the process along. 

“Ah... you are not the person I want to see. I was looking for Logan...” Roman trailed off, looking expectantly at Virgil and what, did he expect him to somehow produce the other man out of thin air? Roman could clearly see behind him, and see that the room was empty. He didn’t need to know that Logan had run like a coward - or like Virgil - and was now hiding upstairs. 

“Yeah, well. Sucks to be you I guess.” Virgil replied with a shrug, trying to remain calm and casual. Logan was counting on him to make sure he didn’t have to talk to Roman and Virgil was going to do his level best to help. It was the first time anyone had asked him to do anything that didn’t feel like a trap since he had woken up here and he was determined to do what he could. Unlike the food offered there didn’t seem to be any hidden sting here. He knew the price would almost certainly be falling out with Roman and prepared himself as best he could. 

Roman frowned, brows furrowed tightly together in concentration as he considered those words, two fingers rubbing at a leaf, brushing over the slightly smooth surface. 

“Why are you in Logan’s house?” Roman asked at last. 

“None of your business.” Virgil replied quickly and that was a line of thought that he really didn’t want Roman to go down. No need for him to start to put the pieces together, he needed to be annoyed and thus off kilter, to not come to the obvious conclusion, that there was only really one reason why Virgil would be in the house and that would be if Logan was there too.

“Actually... it kind of is...” Roman said slowly. “I don’t know you or trust you yet... you could have any nefarious reason for being in Logan’s home. It’s my duty to make sure he is safe so I’m going to ask you one last time. Where. Is. Logan?” 

He... he thought what exactly? That Virgil... that Virgil had done something to Logan? Or that Logan wasn’t here but Virgil was because he had broken in? Did he think Virgil a common thief or worse, a threat? Virgil didn’t know exactly what Roman was trying to get at, but whatever it was, he really didn’t like it. The other wolf took a step forward, those overpowering flowers still held in front of him and for a moment Virgil wanted to stumble backwards to submit almost and let Roman - confident, sure of himself almost glowing Roman - into the house. He knew what he was doing and a little voice inside of his head whispered that he should just let him in as Roman so clearly wanted. 

He should back down. 

No, this wasn’t Roman’s home and Logan had made it quite clear that he didn’t want him there. Which meant that Virgil had to protect him. He felt his lips curl into a sneer as he forced his head high and Virgil might not feel confident... but then Roman didn’t need to know that. All he needed to know was that he wasn’t getting past him without a fight. Hopefully he would take pity on the barely out of bed wreck that Virgil was and not actually attack him. 

“Back off, Logan doesn’t want to see you right now,” Virgil said. A growl echoed around his words as he spoke, Virgil’s eyes widening in surprise, his hand slapping over his mouth a moment later. Where... where had that come from? What _was_ that? It had sounded so forceful, so animal life, a deep rumble with his words although the effect had surely been spoilt by the way Virgil had flinched at the sound himself. Hard to be intimidating when it scared you too. 

“Aww, baby wolf’s first growl. Remy will be upset he missed it.” Roman cooed, a grin on his face as he momentarily seemed to forget his plan to come in or even the worry that Logan might be in danger. 

“I...” Virgil trailed off, cautiously lowering his hand when it seemed as though no other growl was coming out, mouth opening and closing a couple of times. He didn’t know what to say, not really, mind free falling for a few long agonizing seconds before Virgil was able to catch himself on the mentioned name and use it to pull himself back to some form of sentence. “Remy will be... upset?” 

His question only made the grin shift into a more annoying smirk, as though he knew something that Virgil didn’t. To be far, he probably knew a lot of things Virgil didn’t, since he knew all about being a werewolf but this felt like something far more pointed and particular. All of a sudden, Roman didn't seem to consider him a threat and Virgil couldn’t help but feel very confused by that. He had just _growled_ for goodness sake. His own reaction aside, the fact that he was capable of growling should have made Roman more annoyed and worried, not less. 

“Your wolf is starting to really come through now,” Roman explained, a board, almost smug smile on his face and he was enjoying this clearly. “You’re going to start growling at things or feeling stuff that you might not recognize at first, stuff the wolf you knows even if you don’t. Like the urge to run wild. Or growl when you’re trying to misguidedly protect someone. Soon your eyes will be properly golden when you get worked up, it’ll be awesome.” 

“That is. Helpful,” Virgil replied after a short pause, swallowing down the scream of frustration that wanted to sound. Awesome was not the word he would have used to describe losing control of his voice and sounding a little like a demon but apparently that was going to be his reality from now on. 

Wonderful.

Neither really seemed to know what to say now, Virgil doing his best to keep his gaze firmly fixed to the side, refusing to look at Roman any further. Or to think about what he said beyond a half hearted wish that he had demanded more practical answers off Remy before he had decided to panic about the emotion bond they seemed to share. Or to think about Logan who was still hiding and waiting for his freedom. Speaking of Logan, could he hear this? Virgil had no idea what it was like upstairs and for all he knew Logan was hovering, listening. For all he knew, Roman could see the stairs and realise where he was. Virgil shifted slightly, a minute step to the right, as if his shortener form could somehow prevent Roman from looking over him and seeing the stairs which lead upwards to where Logan was hiding. 

“So...” Virgil said at last, and he needed to break this silence, he wanted the other wolf to just go away so he could relax at last. His whole body was aching, begging to be allowed to sit down at last but there was no way he was going to be able to do that while Roman was still here. 

“Will you give Logan these flowers at least?” Roman asked. Virgil snorted and shook his head, a little surprised that Roman would even ask. 

“No.”

“What? Why? Rude much,” Roman looked positively scandalised as he stood there, one hand lifted to press lightly against his heart as though wounded. Virgil wasn’t impressed. 

“They smell.” Virgil explained. Roman rolled his eyes and sighed, something over the top and dramatic. It set Virgil’s teeth on edge and made him that much more eager to end this conversation. Slowly, he spoke, voice almost sing song and it was nothing like Logan’s tone when he had tried to explain something that he found simple but Virgil confusing. It was far more patronising, Roman even giving a little shimmy of his shoulders as he spoke. 

“Well of course they do! Flowers tend to have a scent Virgil.”

Any sympathy he might have had for Roman was rapidly diminishing under that tone, and Virgil was done being his own brand of polite. He was done with this conversation in general. 

“No, they smell too much. Good bye.” 

With that, Virgil slammed the door in his face. 

Well. That had gone terribly. Some part of Virgil couldn’t believe that he had actually done that, that he had the nerve to slam a door in anyone's face, let alone Roman. His whole body was trembling lightly, breath slipping out in a fast and rapid pace as he waited for whatever was going to happen next. 

To his amazement, Roman didn’t bang on the door and demand to be let in. He didn’t break it down or force his way inside, he didn’t do anything violent in fact. Merely sighed and turned away, Virgil able to hear his footsteps as they grew steadily fainter, Roman simply taking the door slam as the end of the conversation. That really wasn’t what he expected but he wasn’t complaining. 

Virgil sagged against the door for a moment and sighed before forcing his protesting body back upright. He still had to go and tell Logan it was safe to come down. Then, hopefully, he would finally be allowed to sit and rest for a little while. 

\--

It was starting to get dark by the time Virgil left Logan’s house, but he hadn’t wanted to go back to the place he - assumed - he was staying. What if Patton was still there? What if he wanted to talk some more? What if Remy was still there, and Virgil still didn’t know what he was going to say exactly to the other wolf. His conversation with Logan had helped a little - as had the fact that after their first discussion about Virgil’s current situation, Logan had blessedly left the topic alone and moved onto other, less upsetting points.

All in all, Virgil had almost enjoyed himself these past few hours. It had felt so good to just talk to someone again about things that weren’t life or death, or worse feelings. Even better to talk to someone who didn’t know his past, who didn’t see him as Dorian’s trophy and either be afraid of him or try and use him in order to get closer to the other man. 

If he didn’t know better, Virgil would have almost have thought that Logan saw him for _him_. Another ridiculous thought, but then his day had been so full of them, so where was the harm in having another? 

Logan had rambled happily about stars most of the time, Virgil more than content to listen. He had always loved the tales of the night sky when he had been a child, the adventures and thrilling history that played out across them, a snapshot of a moment frozen forever in sparkling lights. Logan knew so many more stories though, he knew the details of ones that Virgil had loved and forgotten. 

Now and then he would stop, almost flustered by the fact that Virgil seemed honestly interested but it was easy enough to nudge him into carrying on talking. Logan even knew about the Old Ways, about the so called magic that once existed in the world and that fascinated Virgil more than anything. If werewolves were real, perhaps the stories were more than just stories. He would have to ask one of the wolves themselves for that, Logan begrudgingly admitting that he had gotten most of his information from them. 

A mild annoyance but at least it would give Virgil a subject to fall back onto if he ever needed to change the topic rapidly. 

Now, Virgil had to go back to the room he called home. Nobody had come to drag him back there yet, something he was grateful for. It made him feel less like a prisoner and although Virgil wasn’t quite ready to believe that everything was as wonderful and as innocent as Remy wanted him to think, he was prepared to accept that maybe - just maybe - he wasn’t about to be dragged into a dark alley and torn to pieces. 

“Virgil! Wait!” 

Or maybe not. Roman’s voice was loud, closer than he would have liked. There was nobody else around, and it seemed as if all the other werewolves were tucked up in their own homes by this point. Which meant it was just him and Roman. Who had all these hours to brood about the fact that Virgil had slammed a door in his face and had been nothing but rude to him. Who might be mad about that or any other half baked reason. Virgil felt himself tense up, worry and frustration coursing through him. What if Roman got jealous because he had spent all this time talking to Logan? What if he still thought Virgil had been up to no good all this time? What if he had been waiting for Virgil to leave so he could get him alone? 

If Virgil shouted for help would anyone even come? 

It was a pretty big coincidence that Roman just so happened to be here when Virgil was leaving and walking alone. And there was no such thing as coincidence. Just unpleasant things that hadn’t finished happening yet. 

Briefly, Virgil considered the merits of just running for it. 

“Virgil!” Roman called again and no, there was nowhere he could go. Nowhere safe he could hide, which meant there was going to be yet more talking in his near future. If he was lucky, only talking but that was still bad enough and it felt as though Virgil had spent every waking moment just talking lately. Or listening, but that still required a world of effort. Virgil felt drained by all the interactions of the day and still they kept on coming because it was blindingly obvious to him that Roman was not here by chance but had been waiting for him.

“Yes?” Virgil finally turned to look at Roman, trying to keep his nerves under control. Although maybe if he got scared Remy would come? Not that Virgil wanted Remy to come and have to save him yet again. Surely the other wolf had to be tired of that by now, surely there had to be a finite limit on just how many times he would come to his aid before finally demanding whatever it was he really wanted? Then again, if Remy had to pick between the two of them, why would he ever pick Virgil?

Roman didn’t... look angry at least, Virgil blinking a couple of times as he took in the other man who had come to a stop a few feet from him. There was an almost nervous expression on his face, tongue flicking out to wet his lips for a moment. His dark, near red hair was somewhat dishevelled, as though Roman had taken to running his hand repeatedly through it. At least there were no flowers in his hands this time. 

Maybe he was doing Roman a wrong by constantly thinking the worst of him. 

“While you were in Logan’s place, did um... did Logan talk about me? At all?” Roman really had no right looking as hopeful as he did when he asked that question, a bashful little smile on his face. His hand lifted, Virgil’s eyes automatically following it as it swept through his hair and oh, it seemed as if he had been right about why the reddish brown locks looked the way they did. His nerves seemed to increase with every passing second that Virgil didn’t answer, Roman now shifting anxiously from foot to foot. 

Suddenly, Virgil was struck by the thought that Logan was very wrong in his idea as to what Roman actually wanted from him. 

“What is going on with you two anyway?” Virgil asked in lieu of answering the actual question. Roman wouldn’t have liked the answer anyway, not if that look on his face was any hint as to what he hoped it would be. Logan had spoke about Roman but it had been constantly coloured with annoyance, confusion at the behaviour of the wolf. A clear lack of understanding as to what he wanted as well as Logan’s determination not to become a prize, or whatever he believed Roman’s end goal to be. 

“I am wooing him of course! Courting him! Or at least... I would, if he would allow me the honour of doing so. He seems to be so against the idea and yet at the same time he won’t give me any real indication that he wants me to stop.” Roman sighed, a dejected look crossing his face as his whole form seemed to shrink a few inches, body slumping forward. 

Oh.

Yeah, forget the wrong pages, Logan, was _really_ on the completely wrong book when it came to what he and Roman thought they were doing. 

“I just don’t understand you humans,” Roman complained, drawing himself back up to his full height, head tilted so he was literally looking down his nose at Virgil, an annoyed look in his eyes. Virgil opened his mouth to remind him that he wasn’t human before closing his mouth again and thinking better of it. Not that Roman seemed to even notice as he started to rant. 

“If he has no desire to return my feelings, I have told him time and time again that he merely needs to ask me to stop once and I will never darken his door again. He does not do that and yet at the same time he never appears to welcome my advances. Is that how humans normally court? Are you all so... so... infuriating?”

“Whoa, whoa, wait, he’s never asked you to stop?” That... was not what Virgil had expected. From the way Logan had complained, he had assumed that the pursuit was indeed purely on Roman’s side and that the loud werewolf had simply ignored any attempts from Logan to make it stop, that he had ridden roughshod over any rejection the human might have used. That he, in effect, was painfully similar to Dorian and had simply decided that he knew best. 

Virgil had been fully prepared to fight Roman in defence of Logan - in words only at the moment, he still felt as though a particularly strong wind might knock him over and send him falling to the ground. Virgil wasn’t going to let anyone be pushed into that same position as he had once been in. He wasn’t going to let anyone be tricked into thinking they wanted something they didn’t. 

Yet, if what he said was true and Logan had really never asked him to stop then that put a whole new spin on well, everything. 

He was going to have to apologise to Roman about his internal comparison to Dorian. Even though he had never said it. Even though Roman had no idea who Dorian even was. It was still the principle of the matter. Dorian had been the master of manipulation, the puppet master who hid the strings with such finesse and grace that Virgil still couldn’t be sure which of his choices had been his own and which had actually been his. 

It was an insult to compare Roman to his old partner, and Virgil knew he needed to let Dorian go. He needed to stop thinking about him, stop comparing everyone’s actions to him. His world didn’t revolve around that village any longer which meant that it didn’t revolve around Dorian. It was just hard to change years of thinking, to unlearn everything he had known. Hard to just snap his fingers and pretend that the damage wasn’t there anymore. 

Virgil had so many questions and although he knew he wasn’t going to get any answers, that didn’t stop them from crowding his mind at any random time, trying to force themselves into the upper reaches of his thought process and take over his mind, so that he could think of nothing else. A lot of the questions could be applied to Remy as well. Namely the most important one.

Why him?

What had Virgil done or said that could have possibly drawn either of them into his orbit? 

The question could be applied to Roman as well, if he tilted it ever so slightly. What had _Logan_ done that made Roman this determined to court him, through rejection after rejection. What had Roman done in turn which stopped Logan from actually ending this weird dance they were in?

Roman’s expression somehow became more insulted, as though Virgil had slapped him across the face instead of asking a simple question. It was exaggerated, over the top and yet Virgil believed it was real. That just seemed to be the sort of person Roman was, always taking things to their greatest extreme, posing one way or another. 

“Not in those words. I have asked him; say no just once and it will be enough. He does not. It is almost... as though he treats it as a game. That chess he is always so fond of. Or a sword fight, now that is a better description.” 

“A... sword fight?” All this new information was making Virgil’s head spin a little and he wasn’t sure what to make of anything right now. He had heard many words used to describe a courtship or a relationship but a fight was not one of them. Roman nodded, one hand lifting in a fist towards the sky, the wolf adopting somehow an even more dramatic pose as he stood there. 

“Yes! He blocks, he will parry, but he never attempts to defeat or disarm me. He knows how he can end this match and yet does not.”

Virgil really had no idea what to say to any of this. After all, what could he say to a clearly pinning werewolf who didn’t understand humans? Especially when Virgil really didn’t understand humans, even when he had still been one. Logan’s actions were as much a mystery to him as they were to Roman. If he and Logan were friends now - and didn’t the mere idea send a thrill through him - then he would have to press him further on the subject of Roman.

Maybe he could find some information which would explain all of this. If he could work out a way to bring up the conversation at all without spilling the details of this conversation or describing how innocently hopeful Roman had looked at the mere idea Logan might have mentioned him. The wolf had it bad for Logan. 

It didn’t feel right somehow, to share Roman’s secrets however, not even to learn more. Not that he had asked Virgil to keep this conversation between them both, but for whatever reason Roman had waited until they were alone before asking him. It felt wrong to turn around and repeat it all to Logan when Roman had made a very conscious choice to have it somewhere Logan couldn’t hear. On the flip side, anything he did learn, he couldn’t then tell Roman because it would equally be a betrayal of Logan. 

Virgil was starting to remember why he had always tried to stay out of this story of drama at home. It was never worth it. 

“I... don’t know what to say dude.” It was the truth, although it was hardly helpful but he had nothing else to say or offer Roman. “My experiences with courtships as you put it, are not positive ones so I really couldn’t say what Logan is playing at.” 

“Your...”

“Nope,” Virgil cut in quickly, word flat. “No. Nuh-uh. Not doing that conversation.”

“Of course, of course, my apologies Virgil, I. Well, I did mean to pry, but I will not bring it up again.” Roman looked so serious as he spoke, so sincere, that Virgil couldn’t help but believe him. That was another bewildering moment to add to his increasing list of them. Roman was quite obviously curious about his past. He had admitted as such. And yet Virgil had said no, and that was apparently enough to end the conversation for good. 

Time would tell of course if Roman kept his word, but Virgil found himself wanting to think the best of the redhead instead of his default position of always assuming the worst.

If this was what it was going to be like living here... well, Virgil still wasn’t ready to say he liked it or wanted this, but there were differently worse places to live than one where people actually listened to him and respected his opinions on things. A place where he could keep a secret instead of someone acting as though he was being a bad friend - or boyfriend - by not sharing everything at their pace instead of his own.

“Virgil... about the scent...” Roman began, words almost stumbling over themselves. Virgil lifted an eyebrow, thrown by the shift in conversation. Sure, he had said that he wouldn’t bring up Virgil’s past experiences but did he have to run so far in the opposite direction that he spoke of flowers?

“What about it? I stand by what I said dude, those flowers stink to high heaven.”

“Except they didn’t.”

“Um. They did,” Virgil replied, wondering why this was the hill that Roman had decided to take a stand on. Out of everything they could have talked about, argued about, he had chosen the merits of the flowers and their scents as his battle? 

“No, you just thought they did... it is your werewolf senses kicking in again, magnifying something,” Roman explained, wringing his hands together a little as he spoke. “You just went a little over the top with detecting something, that's all.” 

“Then why didn’t you think they smelled too strong? You’re a wolf too.” Internally, Virgil was slightly proud of himself for that one. He had managed to refer to himself - albeit indirectly - as a werewolf without so much as a flinch of crack in his voice. Maybe he was finally starting to get the hang of this.

“I can ignore it. It would be impossible if you heard and smelt everything as it really is all the time. You’re subconsciousness is filtering out stuff too obviously, otherwise you would be curled up in a ball, overwhelmed by it all.”

That... was a cheery thought. 

At least his subconscious was good for something at least. Virgil had never had the chance to think that before, normally it was the enemy, filling him with vague and ill defined dread. Normally it seemed to want him to fail at anything he tried and yet here it was helping him? Perhaps a miracle had actually happened in the woods that night. 

“You just need lessons, it's not your fault you’re uneducated in what you are now. I can teach you if you want, I’m sure I’ve had slower pupils than you,” Roman offered, flashing him a charming smile. “In return you can tell me more about humans.” 

Virgil breathed out through his nose and thought of various calming things. Of the feel of hay between his fingers, twisting a piece this way and that. The sound of birdsong in the evening, letting him know it was time to head home. The scent of bread waking you up. Or of the feeling of a warm summer breeze when you sat in the shade, watching the rest of the world go by. Of Re- not that. 

Anything to stop himself from growling again at Roman. As satisfying as it would no doubt be to make that sound, it would only prove whatever point it was that Roman was trying to make. That he had no control and it was all his own fault. 

“You mean dumb. You mean I’m stupid for not knowing how to smell things at a human level still?” Virgil finally asked and it was a struggle to remind himself that Roman probably didn’t mean that. That only a few moments earlier he had been thinking positive things about the werewolf. Roman wasn’t such a bad guy.

“I didn’t say that! I mean yes, you should have trusted me that I would never give Logan flowers that _actually_ smelled bad, but I get it. You don’t understand anything anymore, it's cool.” 

Never mind, Roman was the worst. 

“No, thank you,” Virgil replied, biting down on the other words that he wanted to say. He swallowed and swallowed, keeping a lid as best he could on his rising emotions. “It’s late. I’m going back to m... to the house.” 

Thankfully, Roman let him go with only a vaguely annoyed snort, shaking his head in apparent disappointment. He didn’t press the matter however or call Virgil stupid again, so Virgil was going to take it as a win. Maybe he realised he had gone too far? Unlikely but still possible. 

It almost sounded as though Roman had muttered ‘rude’ at him again as he went past but he could have just imagined it. Virgil was just thankful that he was able to brush past and hurry on down the path because night had properly fallen in the time it took for them to talk. It was dark as he reached the house he had started from, a lantern set by the door, shining brightly.

Almost as though it had been left there to guide him back.

A nice, if foolish thought.

The door was unlocked, candles leading him along the hall and up towards the room where he had been sleeping in. To his relief, there was no sign of either Remy or Patton, both werewolves apparently deciding to give him some much needed space and let him return in his own time, without pushing or asking him. Virgil hadn’t even sensed Remy nearby and although he didn’t know how it worked exactly, he couldn’t help but feel he would... know.... Somehow, when the other wolf was there, he just _knew_. 

They trusted him to get back okay and that made something warm and comforting form inside of his chest. Perhaps it wasn't such a foolish idea after all, to imagine they had left the lantern on for him. To think that they were going to be willing to let him move at his own pace now. 

It was such a small thing but it mattered to Virgil that he was given even this faint illusion of control and choice. That his life was still his own and he could make the choices he needed in order to get through it how he wanted to. 

He settled on the bed he had first woken up in, fingers drumming restlessly against the covers, his mind busy in thought. The downside to having control over your own destiny was the fact that he had to make all the choices, including what he was going to do about Roman and the very real fact that Virgil knew nothing about this world. 

Virgil was going to have to get lessons alright. But if he had the choice as to his teacher, it wasn’t going to be Roman. He felt as little as though he was between a rock and a hard place, and yet someone else had offered to show him how to be a werewolf. Someone almost as smug as Roman but who could at least calm him as well as annoy him greatly. 

He was going to learn everything he could and show Roman that he was wrong to underestimate him, wrong to say he didn’t understand anything. And very wrong to say that those flowers didn’t stink. 

There was just something specifically, that he needed to learn first. 

\--

“I want you to teach me how to block it.” 

Virgil was almost vibrating in place as he stood there, hands curled into fists, so clearly trying to repress his feelings, to hold himself back. It wasn’t working very well. Remy could feel all sorts of emotions leaking out through cracks in the makeshift wall he had managed to build. The fact that he had created anything within his mind was amazing and Remy wanted to tell him so, wanted to gush about the strength needed, the skill he had to possess in order to subconsciously create any kind of barrier. He wasn’t going to say a word however, because that would only remind Virgil that he was listening in on the emotions at all, it would only upset him. Possibly drive him away and Remy wasn’t going to risk that. 

Even if it felt a little... dishonest. He wanted Virgil so badly to be happy, to feel confident and relaxed around him and yet he was acting as if he didn’t know certain things. 

Remy had known Viurgil was coming to look for him. He had felt the bond twist and turn as Virgil had struggled with his emotions. It was impossible to ignore it, to not feel whatever Virgil was feeling. While Remy could push it to one side, it was still there, screaming in his ear. He felt it, whether he wanted to or not. It hurt, to know Virgil was hurting, to know when he was scared or uncertain or annoyed. All the taller wolf wanted to do was track him down and protect him, put himself between his wildcat and whoever was causing him grief. Remy gave him his space though, let him have however much time he needed in order to work through the wild array of thoughts and worries that had to be assaulting him.

There was a chance he was leaving Virgil to think too much. From what little he knew of Virgil, he tended to over think things, to come up with a hundred different answers when the issue only needed one. He probably already had managed to convince himself of all manner of terrible things, had thought there was some mean reason as to why Remy was giving him space. 

It was getting to the point where Remy was seriously starting to consider tracking down just to check on him, worries about Virgil reacting badly be damned. If he didn’t, Virgil might react badly anyway. 

Then he had heard Virgil walk up towards him as he lounged on a stump by the edge of the village, staring out at the trees. He could hear the quickening of breath that seemed to shift in time to the rush of new emotions that battered against the makeshift wall that had been thrown up between them. Remy tried his best to close his mind to them, to give Virgil a shred of privacy but that was hard enough at the best of times. It was even worse when he didn’t want to actually do it, when all he wanted was to learn those emotions so he could take care of him. 

Remy had continued to gaze in the same direction, never once betraying that he was fully aware of Virgil. Of how he would take a few steps and then paused as if reconsidering his choice or checking to see if Remy was going to react. Now and then, he could make out the sound of grass being brushed underfeet as Virgil seemed to shift a little without actually moving forward. It was a sweet, sweet torture but one that Remy was more than willing to endure for Virgil’s sake. There was something about the other wolf, something that just drew him in, deeper and deeper. He had already been enthralled from their first meeting and that feeling hadn’t changed a jot. Remy just had no clue how he was supposed to tell him that without Virgil freaking out. 

So he sat and looked out towards the trees, very deliberately _not_ brooding and did his best not to react. It reminded him of a pup trying to sneak up on someone, the thought almost sending a smile twitching on his lips before he forced his expression back into one of careful neutrality. 

Only when Virgil had spoken did he finally react, shifting and turning to look at him, watching the way he trembled, as he tried to keep himself strong and tall. Inside, the wall was rapidly crumbling and it was next to impossible to keep the buffeting emotions at bay, the fear and worry took his breath away. Virgil was terrified in this moment, scared of what he was asking for, scared that Remy might say no - or that he might say yes. 

Remy wasn’t sure what had inspired such a request but if the way Roman had been stomping around and muttering darkly about humans was any hint, then he had a pretty good idea who it was connected to. 

“Sure thing babes,” he replied after a beat, pushing himself up and off the stump. He spun gracefully to face Virgil, coat billowing out behind him as he moved. It was quite dramatic, if he said so himself. It didn’t seem to get the reaction that he actually wanted however, Virgil took a stumbling step backwards, almost falling over his own feet in a bid to get away from him. 

It made his wolf howl in pain at the thought that he had done something wrong yet again, that despite knowing everything he knew about Virgil, Remy had still managed to move too fast and startle him. He had to swallow down the urge to give chase, to close that distance which had suddenly opened up between them but if this was how he had reacted to Remy moving at all, he knew taking that step, no matter how tempting would only make things worse. Virgil swallowed a couple of times and then stepped forward, closing the gap himself, chin held high. 

“We don’t talk... we don’t do _anything_ else until I can block it. I need... I need to know I am safe in my own mind.” Virgil’s expression had twisted into something sour as he spoke, as though he had taken a huge bite out of a lemon but was determined not to lose face, to keep on chewing and swallowing it, no matter how vile the thing was. 

He really was a brave pup. 

Remy hadn’t realised until the topic came up, just how scared Virgil would be of the bond. It had always seemed such a natural thing to Remy because he had always known of it. The bond had always been as real and as natural a thing as anything else in his life. It was as normal as breathing in a way and growing up it had been his mother who would whisper her love through the bond, the emotions flowing freely both ways until a lot of the time there was no need for words because he had that instead and it was simpler than any words. 

He had only shared the bond with a few once he grew up and took over, because over his long life there had only been a few he had deemed worthy of turning. Even those bonds were closed, blocked from both ends when the wolf in question had decided to move on. 

Selfish of him, but Remy found himself hoping that Virgil wouldn’t close the bond forever. That wasn’t his decision to make though. It was Virgil’s choice, and as much as it might pain him, he would honour it. He would still hope of course, but if the dark haired man wanted to turn away from Remy then he would let him go. He would do better than the mistakes of his past. 

Remy felt a sudden surge of emotion towards the young wolf, a rush of fondness that he made no attempt to hide. Pride at him for asking despite how scared he had felt. Warmth for him in general, pleasure at how well he was coping with everything that had been flung upon him. 

From the way Virgil’s eyes grew wide, it was clear that he could sense those feelings, a moment of sweet acceptance before the shutters came down in front of him, Virgil lowering his eyes to examine the floor instead. He exhaled softly, reigning in his emotions, closing the door, the bond between them both once more so that Virgil had his own feelings and those alone in his head. 

The wolf in him wanted nothing more than to wrap itself around him, to try and soothe all that pain he could feel leaking out of him. He wanted to take Virgil’s hand again, to offer himself as a source of comfort, to gather him close and let his instincts dictate his actions. The wolf wanted so badly to protect this one it had chosen, the one that Remy found himself wanting to chose that it was almost impossible to resist, to remind it over and over again just why they couldn’t take as they desired. 

Remy - despite frequent insults and claims to the contrary - wasn't a fool however. He knew full well that such an attempt would be met at best with a snarl and rejection. At worst with a final crack and rupture of trust that no amount of begging would ever manage to heal. The hope of a long term gain had to be more important than the whims of the moment, no matter how much his wolf side whined in his head. 

It was amazing that Virgil was prepared to trust him this much, that he had taken it upon himself to seek out Remy and ask for help. Remy wasn’t going to waste this opportunity, this second chance. 

“We need to make a door in your mind sunshine. In time, you’ll be able to open and close it at will. It will take effort at first, keeping it locked but I have faith in you, soon you will be able to do it without even focusing. You’ve already made a start, its impressive. We’ll have you built up in no time sugar.”

The smile Virgil gave him was a little shaky and unsure, but it was still real. Hopeful. And he could feel the hope in his own heart grow as a result. 

Maybe things would actually be okay.


	10. Full Moon Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A full moon. What could possibly go wrong?_
> 
> _Apparently, quite a lot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to chapter ten! I hope you enjoyed the last few chapters of friendship and fluff and drawing closer to some kind of understanding between them all. Because I’m about to light that all on fire. Enjoy! This chapter has possibly my favourite line I've ever written for Remy and as you know, I adore and use him a lot, so that is saying something. (I'm sure when you come to it, it will be obvious.)
> 
> Comments, as always, are wonderful, they feed my soul and keep me going. And I live off the screams. 
> 
> Tumblr gonna tumblr, come find me at @theeternalspace

** **

### Full Moon Rising

** **

Virgil was pretty sure he was going to strangle Roman.

Or maybe Logan. Or maybe Remy. Or maybe Patton, if only because the wolf didn’t get the hint that he wanted to avoid him. Maybe even himself. Regardless, someone was going to end up getting strangled just to give Virgil some peace and they would have nobody to blame but themselves. It would be a mercy and he doubted the others would hold it against him.

Then again, knowing these idiots, they also probably wouldn’t learn their lesson and continue on behaving the way they were until he was forced to murder someone else. And again and again. 

He didn’t know why, but upon finally accepting that they were werewolves and being able to think that without freaking out, Virgil had somehow come to the conclusion that because they were otherworldly, were to all intents and purposes, magical, that it meant they knew a little bit about the world. Maybe even what they were doing and what they wanted from life. But at the very least, Virgil had assumed that as werewolves, they would have their lives in order. Sure, Logan was human, but Logan was also super smart, the smartest person he had ever met. If anyone was supposed to know what was going on, it was meant to be Logan. 

So how come all of them were utter idiots? 

Virgil included himself in that list because he still talked to - most - of them. And because he somehow hadn’t gotten around to murdering one of them despite the many benefits and peace it would bring him. His life would be so much simpler if they weren’t... well, themselves, and yet Virgil still found himself hanging around with a bunch of utter morons. What was worse, was for the most part, he almost liked them. Virgil didn’t like people. It was dangerous to like people, that led to feelings and pain because sooner or later they would just hurt you in turn. Friend was one of the dirtiest words in his vocabulary, yet he found himself almost timidly adding it to the names of those losers. 

Some part of him was still convinced that one of them was going to turn around and laugh, break character and explain that this whole thing was a joke. That the idea of accepting Virgil, at wanting him to not only exist but also to properly be a part of whatever weird little group they had made was just a game. That they were pretending they liked him and then that got boring.

Because he couldn’t understand why anyone would to include him in their group of... fri- of people, for any long period of time. He brought nothing to the group except frustrated sighs and grumpy comments. 

Even his own mother hadn’t been too keen on him all the time. He was sure she loved him in her own way, it was just after everything that had happened before his being chosen, he didn’t think she liked him very much. And now, as far as she was concerned, he was dead.

In his more morbid moments, Virgil found himself wondering if she had cried. If she mourned him at all.

Pointless to wonder since he would never find out and yet he couldn’t help himself, returning to those sorts of thoughts time and time again. A healing scab that he couldn’t help but pick off and let the sore become festering once more. There was so much that he wanted to know and in the same breath did not. So much that kept him awake night after night, staring blankly at the wall. As if he might be able to stare hard enough in order to peel back the invisible curtain and get all his answers without having to awkwardly ask any of the questions. 

He still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask Remy a lot of the questions that burned in his mind. Virgil wasn’t quite ready for asking ‘why’ because he didn’t want to hear the answer. He didn’t want Remy to admit that it had been pity, or worse, a mistake. Some part of Virgil couldn’t help but doubt Logan’s claim, that Remy had chosen to do it, that it had been an action over a reaction, that same voice which relentlessly pointed out all his flaws and why would anyone choose to tie themselves to him willingly?

Then again, he didn’t want to hear the opposite, that Remy had truly wanted to save him because that would only lead to another why and another possible answer. Virgil had no idea what the answer would be, he couldn’t even start to guess what Remy could say to that. 

So Virgil swallowed down those questions and tried to get through the hours as best he could. He was a moron for torturing himself with all these thoughts. They might not be behaving like him, but they were still utter morons, all in their own, incredibly frustrating way. 

Logan and Roman were just the worst. If he wasn’t right in the middle of it all, Virgil might have found it funny. They were both stupid in their own right, both pushing forward and never checking with the other. They were charging in opposite directions at completely different speeds and then getting worked up because they weren’t meeting in the middle despite it all. If only they could talk to each other. If only they could trust each other. Logan needed to believe that Roman wasn’t doing this for a game or a hunt and Roman needed to... stop acting as if he was trying to win something because that just made his actions look like it was part of a hunt. Or a game. 

It was painfully obvious to Virgil that Roman was genuine in his feelings. He was like a really annoying puppy, constantly bouncing around and trying to gain attention in any way he could, short of actually being mean. It opened him up to a lot of attacks from Logan as the human rejected flowers, food and serenading. Roman had a pretty good voice, something even Logan had begrudgingly admitted to - just not to Roman’s face. 

In a way, Virgil almost admired Roman. He was constant in the face of rejection, he never let any of the setbacks stop him. He was determined and stubborn to the point of insanity. Virgil couldn’t even imagine wanting something or someone to the extent that Roman did, that he would never give up. There was little Roman would not do if it meant Logan paid attention to him. 

Even if it was negative attention, at least Logan was looking in his direction and that had to be better than being completely ignored by him. Virgil wasn’t really sure that was the most healthy way to go about trying to get a boyfriend but then he had dated someone he actively disliked for several months so he was pretty sure he wasn’t able to make any comments about that. 

It was equally obvious - to Virgil at least - that Logan was interested back. Virgil wasn’t sure exactly how deeply Logan had feelings for the redhead, but he knew they were there purely from the way Logan blushed everytime Roman showed up despite rolling his eyes and batting down every attempt at flirting. 

Not to mention the way he had sulked for a whole afternoon when Roman hadn’t shown up with a flower despite implying in the morning he would. 

Logan had acted like it wasn’t a surprise, but something that was bound to happen. He was glad, or he claimed, trying to act as though it was a relief to know that Roman had finally gotten the message or gotten bored. That hadn’t stopped him staring out the window every few seconds, searching for the ginger haired wolf. Or the way he had scowled and snapped over the smallest thing, acting like a bear with a sore head. He had been in a foul mood for the rest of the day, Virgil eventually leaving him to his bad temper before one of them did something they couldn’t come back from. 

His good mood hadn’t been restored till the next morning when Roman had apparently woken him up with a dawn chorus serenade. Logan had acted annoyed when he had told Virgil about it later, but the young wolf hadn’t missed the slight smug smile that had slipped onto the very edge of his lips. Logan in all probability hadn’t even been aware of his own expression - emotions as a whole didn’t seem to be his strong suit. He had even apologized for his bad temper the day before, although he had stopped short of actually admitting it was anything to do with Roman. 

Logan was adamant in his denial however, briskly shutting down Virgil whenever he tried to mention it. As far as he was concerned, Roman was playing a game, one that he was going to lose because Logan didn’t let himself get swept away by meaningless feelings or emotions. 

As far as Virgil could make out, he was pretty sure the problem was fear. Fear that Roman _was_ just playing a game, fear that the wolf would lose interest the moment Logan allowed himself to feel something back. It seemed easier to tell himself that Roman was faking his affection and to close his heart off. To hurt Roman first rather than give Roman the chance of hurting him back. Logan didn’t want to talk about it and honestly, neither did Virgil. Emotions were unpleasant. 

Roman was equally useless and despite his request to learn more about humans he had rejected any advice Virgil had cautiously given. Which, in a way, was a good thing because Virgil was a terrible authority when it came to understanding humans and should not be allowed to give advice ever. Still, the way Roman was going, Virgil really didn’t think he could do much worse. Even his most awful advice had to be better than the flaming disaster of an attempt that Roman was constantly making. He didn’t seem to even stop to consider why Logan was behaving the way he was.

It was as though the only reason he was prepared to think of was simply that it was a matter of perseverance, of impressing Logan and once he found the magic moment, everything would click into place. The idea that the problem could lie with Logan and that a serious conversation was the only way to discuss the fears and issues if they ever wanted to move forward together was apparently an idea too far.

Ugh. A serious conversation. That sounded horrible. Virgil would rather chew his own arm off than have that kind of serious talk right now. 

At the end of the day though, despite how terrible those two losers were, he called Logan a friend. Which removed him from the running to be the absolute worse, but that was because Virgil was also terrible and hypocritical. He could forgive a lot more when he liked someone and they liked him. It still shocked him that Logan appeared to actually like him. That they were friends, the term going both ways. 

As sad as it was, Virgil could count on one hand the number of people he had ever considered real friends. Now he had a whole new one in this village.

Who was an idiot true, but not as bad as Roman. Or Patton. Or Remy. Speaking of them, perhaps Patton was the worst, because Patton kept trying to talk to him. Virgil had to come up with increasingly elaborate and ridiculous excuses to get out of the conversations before they could start. Once he had even flung himself through the kitchen window at the sound of Patton’s voice calling his name from down the corridor. The panic had just caused a knee jerk reaction in him. 

Virgil was just grateful he had been in the kitchen munching on a plum and not upstairs in the room that was now officially ‘his’ because he was pretty sure he would have dived out of the window regardless. 

A fall from any sort of noticeable height was not something he was looking to repeat. Ever. 

He knew he was being a bit dramatic and over the top, just as he knew that sooner or later he was going to have a serious talk he had been putting off. Just as soon as the urge to gnaw through his arm had faded to a more manageable level. Just as soon as his heart stopped pounding at the thought. He _knew_ he had to talk to Patton. He knew that Patton - probably - wasn’t the scary wolf that his mind made him out to be. But when he had that talk, it had to be on his terms. When he was ready. 

And it was hard to be able to get into the mindset to be ready when Patton was constantly trying to press ahead and force the issue. Patton and Roman had very similar behaviour patterns really. They were each convinced that they knew best, that if they could just corner their prey then all the vexing issues would get cleared up in no time. They didn’t stop to consider how it felt for the person who felt themselves ‘prey’ or that there could be any other answer than dealing with an issue right now.

Virgil would have thought it was a werewolf thing except Remy thankful didn’t act like that. No, Remy had his own set of terribly annoying and idiciotic actions that were completely different, but even more annoying. Which pushed Remy up the list to number one, of being the worse. 

Remy kept _looking_ at him. 

Which... in the grand scheme of things maybe wasn’t so bad. At first.

He didn’t make many comments, he didn’t get all pleading or try and force any sort of interaction with Virgil before he was ready. He didn’t press on a known sore point, he didn’t bring the conversation around to the things that he was very clearly dying to know. Remy didn’t step over any line that Virgil had drawn in the sand. He kept the conversation about the task or about himself, about the village, never once pressing for any details from Virgil but always willing to listen. Not that Virgil had volunteered much information but he had dropped one or two little nuggets, more to see Remy’s reactions than anything else. It should have reassured Virgil to know that there was no pressure from his... whatever Remy was. Roman said the term was sire and that just made him feel weird in a way he wasn’t willing to examine. 

But Remy still kept _looking_. They weren’t even sad, pleading looks. At least, not all of them were. He had caught Remy looking upset a couple of times, or worried but as soon as he had sensed Virgil gazing at him, Remy had instantly shifted into a more neutral expression, waving off Virgil’s timid attempts to ask him about any of it. 

All in all, it made it impossible for Virgil to question him about the looks as he wanted, leaving him no choice but to focus on other things. 

The lessons had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. Remy still talked a whole load of nonsense but on the whole he seemed to mean well. He was seriously trying to teach Virgil and he didn't treat him like a moron when he didn’t know things or didn’t manage to do them. He never once raised his voice or expressed disappointment in Virgil’s efforts and that meant so much more than Virgil could ever say. He hadn’t realised what a difference it would make, to have someone act as though they actually believed in him.

Really, he should know better than to fall for such an obvious trick, but he couldn’t help but lean in all the same, drawn closer and closer by the promise of someone actually listening to him. Someone who didn’t seek to constantly tear him down an dismiss his thoughts and worries. It had to be a trap, but until it was sprung, he was going to ride the wave for as long as he could. 

Virgil could sense the door now. Although door was perhaps the wrong word. It was rather like a cord stretched between them and either one could tug on it, a little pull which traced along the invisible line between them to pull on the other. It reminded him a little of someone tugging on your hair, although no matter how hard you pulled your end, it never became painful on the other. Insistent and impossible to ignore, but it was a niggle rather than a sharp yank. 

Feelings could also move along it, changing the cord into a river that managed to flow both ways. That made a door or a dam perhaps, something that could stop the trickle. He liked to keep the bond closed his end. It was hard to trust when someone was able to look inside your mind and know your secrets. It was simpler too, not having to worry about wording something correctly. Virgil couldn’t deny that he liked the idea of that part of it. To not have to worry about saying something wrong, because instead he just had to push how he was feeling along the bond and Remy could translate it for him. Tempting, but he still hadn’t done it. 

At the end of the day, Virgil liked having his mind to himself. 

Remy, in comparison, had grown steadily more open as they progressed. He had never forced his feelings upon Virgil and had, in fact, taught him how to block feeling as well as sharing. For all of that, Remy was quite often lapping gently against his mind, an almost comforting presence. He excused it by saying that it was less work for him, and that he would keep it closed for most of the time but it was good practise for Virgil to be able to tell what was and wasn’t his own feelings, as well as understanding what someone else felt like. 

Virgil almost thought he wanted him to know. Which was ridiculous, surely, why would he want the new wolf to know how the leader of the village was feeling? It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows from the mind of Remy. He got worried, scared, worked up, far more than he ever outwardly admitted to. He clearly cared deeply for each and every wolf. He loved them all so very deeply. Virgil shouldn’t consider himself anything special, if he cared for everyone then it would make sense he would care for Virgil too. Of course he would try and help. 

It was Virgil he chose to open up to however. Virgil he seemed to want to spend time with, even when they weren’t having official lessons, and that... Virgil wasn’t sure what to make of that. 

With his mind locked away, Virgil was finally able to explore some feelings he had previously been doing his level best to ignore. 

Namely, why Remy looking at him made him want to scream, cry and cheer all at once. 

The wolf whined inside his head every time he caught Remy giving him one of those looks. They agitated this new side of him, got him worked up in a way that he didn’t understand. He could ask Remy to explain of course, could see if he could help him connect better with his wolf but that would mean explaining what had triggered the confusion, which would mean admitting that he had been watching Remy almost as much as Remy had been watching him.

No thank you, not today, hopefully not ever. Which left him on his own to work this out. If the wolf was a foreign country, then his human side was an endless mix of contradictions. 

Annoyance was up there alright. It was one of the bigger emotions he felt whenever he looked at Remy, but it wasn’t the only one. There was frustration but more than that, confusion. A strange sense of nervousness that increased whenever he looked at him, swarms of butterflies flapping in his stomach. There was also a soft pleasure, an almost naive hope that Remy actually meant even half of the things he said. Warmth that maybe he had another friend here. Two whole friends, Virgil was gaining an embarrassment of riches when it came to this. 

Remy didn’t just want friendship though. Virgil knew it, just as he tried to ignore it. He wasn’t ready for... that. That was danger, that was death and pain and hurt. It wasn’t as though he wanted the same thing anyway. 

There was also a couple of other ones that he didn’t want to name out of a paranoid fear that his blocks might chose that one moment to drop and then Remy would _know_. Why that was so terrible, was yet another thing Virgil wasn’t ready to answer, only that he didn’t want the shade wearing wolf to know his feelings until he had come to terms with them himself.

Slowly, Remy had started teaching him about other things to do with werewolves. About how they worked, about how to focus on one sense over the other so that it didn’t become a jumble or overwhelm him. It annoyed Virgil to realise that Roman had been right, and that the flowers didn’t smell as strong as he had first believed, but at least he wasn’t going to make that same mistake again. He had learnt that much. And more besides. He couldn’t control the growls or flashes in his eyes, but he was no longer quite so scared of them and he was gradually getting used to everyone else making them too. It was progress, every lesson he got better in some way which always gave him enthusiasm for the next lesson. He even enjoyed spending time with Remy, although Virgil made very sure to keep that feeling behind his door - he didn’t want Remy to get a big head. 

If there was one other good thing about his lessons with Remy, it was that it gave Virgil an opportunity to vent to him about the other wolves around. Part of his ranting was a test, Virgil unable to help himself. He had to keep prodding and probing, to see where the line was. Because surely there had to be a line? There had to be a moment when he was rude and it became too much for Remy to handle, when he showed his true colours and turned cold. 

He would never lie and insult them in ways that weren’t true of course. He would never make up things that had happened or insult them by looks or something like that. Not that there was anything wrong with how any of them looked. Did being a werewolf automatically grant you attractive features? Was Remy the most handsome of them all by virtue of his position within the pack? 

That was besides the point. He would never act like someone he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be spiteful for the sake of it, or cruel. But Virgil knew his own worth and constantly found it wanting. He was a lower scale jerk but a jerk nevertheless and it was only fair that Remy knew that. That he understood what a mistake he had made in turning Virgil and saving his life that rainy night. 

So far, Virgil hadn’t managed to push him over that tipping point. It didn’t stop him from trying though. He was ranting now, pacing backwards and forwards as he complained about Roman and the never ending attempts at courting Logan that were just... bad.

“Ah Roman’s not that bad once you get to know him,” Remy protested, voice as calm as ever, almost amused more than anything else and that wasn’t the reaction Virgil had wanted. 

“It’s nothing to do with if he’s bad or not, it's how he is an idiot! No, let’s be fair. They are both idiots. Logan is utterly oblivious to the fact Roman is honestly in love with him. I mean how thick can you be to not notice the longing gazes?”

“Yeah... can’t imagine what that must be like, gazing hopelessly at someone you love and they don’t notice.”

Remy’s voice was surprisingly dry, an almost wry smile on his face as he stared at Virgil. The expression made him flush a little, Virgil giving a little cough and looking away. He suddenly felt restless, a soft, unhappy whine in his mind, his wolf speaking to him. Virgil had no idea what it was saying, but at least it was talking to him. At least it didn’t seem to hate him and Virgil had been half convinced that he would be the only werewolf ever that would have a wolf side that hated him. That seemed to be the sort of luck he had after all. 

“It’s the full moon tomorrow,” he said, shifting the subject without really knowing why. All he knew was that he had to move the conversation onto safer, more stable ground. 

Remy had touched briefly on the full moon. Enough for Virgil to know it would be painful, that he would lose complete control of himself during it. It took time to retain senses during the shift, and even longer to be able to hold it back, to choose when to change. The pack kept a large cellar near the edge of the village for new wolves to be safely contained in, somewhere they could transform without causing hurt to themselves or others. 

Virgil had walked past it once or twice with Logan, although he had never gone inside. He had never wanted to. It looked chill, remote, a foreboding entrance that dropped away in the dark. The thought of having to go through that hatch and down those steps into the solidly built cellar - where he had been informed a row of large cell like rooms were waiting - filled him with a sense of dread that he couldn’t escape. 

There was still a lot about his wolf that he didn’t begin to understand, and quite often he would feel a pull, a tug of some kind as it tried to tell him something and be left with just vague feelings he couldn’t put into words. When it came to the cellar however, both he and his wolf were in perfect agreement. Neither of them wanted to take a single step in there. 

He was going to have to of course. Somehow, he was going to have to convince his wolf to get over itself, to push through the no that roared and struggled in his mind in order to go down those steps, willingly step into a cell and not freak out when they closed the door on him. Virgil was going to have to let them lock him up, the shorter male swallowing heavily at the thought. The idea of willingly letting himself be restrained, even for a good reason scared him a lot more than he was willing to admit. 

Not to mention, there were other... issues with the full moon and the first transformation. Remy hadn’t told him everything, but Virgil had been able to pick up on a lot of the unspoken bits, the things he had danced around and the more awkward elements that were harder to explain. Virgil fidgeted slightly, shifting from foot to foot as he tried to find the words for his question

“Wil... how bad will it hurt?”

“It will hurt,” Remy replied and that - that wasn’t what Virgil asked. He knew it would hurt, the mere idea of his body shifting, bones breaking and reforming into a completely different shape, a new form. Of course that would hurt. It would be more surprising if it didn’t and Virgil had spent countless hours lying awake in bed trying to come to terms with the fact that he was going to break pretty much every bone in his body come the full moon. Not to mention some would change completely, vanishing or growing into something different. His skull... no, Virgil wasn’t ready to think about the way his skull was going to change. That was a painful image too far. 

He did sort of like that Remy didn’t pretend though. It would have been easy enough to lie, to act as though he was doing him a favour by not telling the truth. Easier to ask forgiveness than permission or so the saying went. But he was honest, even when it wasn’t always the answer that Virgil wanted to hear.

Right now, he just wanted the answer to the actual question he had asked. 

“How bad?” Virgil repeated, crossing his arms and gazing at Remy stubbornly. He had to know now, he didn’t want to put it off and torture himself with all the possiblities any longer. Better to know how bad it was now so he could spend tonight not sleeping and coming to terms with it rather than be surprised by it tomorrow. 

“Bad... but you won’t be aware at the time for most of it though. Once the transformation starts and the wolf mind takes over, it becomes a lot more... instinct than anything else. Eventually you’re gain more control with each shift until you become a wolf but your human mind is more in control. First night... first night the wolf will just want out.” No wonder Remy had been reluctant to explain when that was the answer. Still, Virgil had insisted and at least he knew now. He swallowed lightly, tongue flicking out to wet his suddenly dry lips. 

“So what, I get to spend the night in the cellar alone?”

“You won’t be alone.” 

“But you said everyone else can control their wolves, they’ve all had the practise they need. Who is going to be down there with me? It isn’t fair for someone to get locked up when they don’t need it.” Virgil couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t relieved at the idea of someone else being there, but he didn’t want that to happen if it meant they were unhappy about it. Or worse, resented Virgil for it. He had expected to be alone for the night, had tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t be so bad. It seemed as if all of that had been for nothing. Remy spread his arms out, dramatically embracing the air between them. 

“Surprise. Me.”

“You. But... you’re meant to be in charge. Aren’t you needed with everyone else?” Virgil asked and no, he couldn’t let Remy do that. It would be bad enough for one person to be annoyed at having to babysit Virgil. If it was Remy doing that, then it meant he wasn’t looking after everyone else and that would just mean the whole village would hate him. Virgil had already done that, it wasn’t an experience that he was in any hurry to repeat. Especially since this was his second chance, and there was no other village for him to go to if he was driven out of this one. 

“You’re mine- I mean, I made you. It doesn’t matter about anything else, we have that bond and I need to be there for you. You’re my responsibility. Much more than that though, I want to. I’ll be with you Virgil, I won’t let you be alone, I wouldn’t do that to you.” Remy looked annoyingly earnest as he spoke, so much so that Virgil couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed at the idea that he was a responsibility and thus an obligation. He looked down, fingers twisting and curling over themselves in a series of rapid motions before speaking, voice tiny and small. 

“... Promise?” 

“I promise wildc- Virgil,” Remy amended and even that little shift cheered Virgil up slightly. He knew Remy was weirdly attached to the nickname and other people would have put their own wishes first, would have told him that he would get used to it. Or that he was being silly and that it was a sign of affection, why couldn’t Virgil just accept things like that, why did he have to make everything harder than it needed to be? Didn’t he realise how difficult it was to love him? 

It didn’t help that Virgil maybe didn’t hate the nickname as much as he pretended, and it was more the possessive claim it came with that he disliked. Meaning once again, the voice that knew everything, was right and Virgil was wrong. 

Virgil blinked slowly, banishing those voices from his past, letting the ghosts of before shimmer and vanish before his eyes, Remy reappearing in his vision. The lanky wolf was nodding as he spoke. 

“I’ll be there. I might miss the start because I have to check in on the others but I promise, I will be with you through the night and into the morning. You won’t do this alone I swear. Not any of it.”

“But you just said you might miss the start,” Virgil replied and he wasn’t mad. He understood Remy’s position, how he had to put the whole pack first. He was their leader - as terrifying a thought as that was - and it was up to him to make sure everyone was safe and comfortable. Sure, there was nobody else who needed to be helped like Virgil, but that didn’t mean they were all completely independent and fine on their own. It stood to reason that they would want Remy around for help or just to reassure them. 

Anyway, Virgil was used to coming second in people’s plans. 

“Roman’s offered to stay with you. He’s more than capable until I arrive.” 

\--

The sun had already set, which meant that he had missed Virgil’s transformation. 

Remy had known that it was pretty much a certainty that would happen. He still had to put the needs of the whole group above his own and as much as his wolf wanted to be with him for that first change, to reassure him as best he could, to comfort and even growl him down if he got too rowdy, Remy hadn’t been able to. He had to make sure everyone was safe and secure first. He had to check in on those that were in control of their wolves but still liable to slip now and then if they were having a bad week. 

He had to check on the ones that were tired or hurt, the ones that needed just a little bit of help to get started. Then there were the ones that were just not confident enough, that could manage perfectly well but didn’t believe in themselves. Three years and still Emile worried that he wouldn’t be able to do it or that he would hurt someone else. He was perfect at encouraging others and helping them through their problems but not so when it came to himself. And as always, Remy had given him the nudge he needed, the warm and solid confidence to let him transform.

Remy had to make sure that not only everyone had changed but that everyone was with someone else, that nobody was alone. There was nothing worse than a wolf alone on a full moon. Even the most experienced and in control wolf was liable to slip if they were through enough transformations solo. It was the nature of the beast, the curse of the wolf. Pack was everything. Pack had to come before personal desires. 

It didn’t mean he had to like it. 

Virgil had understood. His wildcat had almost softened when Remy had explained why he would be late, and honestly, Remy hadn’t quite expected that. Unfair no doubt, when he knew that Virgil was a good person, but he had assumed he would be like other humans, that he would see his pain and fear and nothing else. Only for Virgil to tell him he understood, to let him know it was okay. Remy wasn’t sure he would go that far, but at least his wildcat hadn’t been angry at him. 

It was the first time he had allowed himself to feel any real hope as to the situation they found themselves in. Remy did his best not to push, not to force an issue before Virgil was ready to talk about it. Privately, it was killing him a little, but he had seen the reaction to Patton and the last thing he wanted was to add to the stress that Virgil was under. If he was to have any chance then he couldn’t scare him off, he couldn’t move too quickly.

His own feelings were nothing compared to the need to make sure Virgil was comfortable and confident. And they had all the time in the world now. 

The wolf wanted now, the wolf didn’t want to wait. It saw that connection and longed to claim. It had always seen the connection. It had just... known. Remy wondered if Virgil’s wolf would know. And if it did, would that encourage Virgil or scare him? 

Virgil had almost smiled at him when he said he understood.

The nearly there expression had kept him floating for hours, the way his lips had crept upwards just a fraction, the very faint dusting of pink that danced across his cheeks. The way those pale eyes had seemed to shine silver for a fraction of a second before the gold of the wolf. 

Virgil was beautiful and Remy had fallen almost as fast as his wolf. It wasn’t just looks of course. Virgil was funny too, when he forgot himself enough to be witty. His humour was dry, dark at times but clever, oh so clever. He was brave as well, the sort of bravery that took Remy’s breath away. Virgil was more aware than most of the dangers of the world. He always asked what could go wrong instead of what could go right and yet that didn’t stop him from actually then doing whatever it was. 

Brave, funny, loyal, cute and almost smiled at him. Remy had no chance against that combo. 

If only he could hope that one day Virgil might like him a little back. Helping him through the first night would hopefully help, would let him see that Remy wasn’t a monster, that he was trying to do the right thing. Maybe Virgil would even be able to start looking past their first meeting. Or so the dream went. He was getting ahead of himself, as always. 

Remy shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking towards the cellar area. It was large enough to hold several wolves at a time although it had been a while since there had been any sort of growth like that. One or two new wolves was the norm these days, they had to be much more careful, they couldn’t afford to grow quicker than they could cope with. 

He wondered what Virgil’s wolf looked like. Human form was no guide as to the sort of wolf form you had. Roman for example had a wolf that was the palest white, his hair so fair it almost glowed. He was long limbed, dainty, graceful and almost fragile. Not the sort of wolf you would place with the loud redhead and yet that was who it was. 

“Remy!” 

Speaking of Roman... his name was almost screamed, Remy’s head jerking up in time to see the wolf in question rushing towards him. Remy swallowed down the faint growl of annoyance that wanted to rise up at being delayed further. The moon put everyone on edge but it wasn’t right to take that out on Roman, even as he came to a stop in front of him, panting heavily. 

“How important is this Ro? I promised Virgil I would be there for him and I’ve already missed the start, so I need to hurry... on... over.” 

Wait. 

Roman was meant to be there. Roman had promised Remy, who had promised Virgil, that someone would be with him every second of his first transformation, despite the fact he wouldn’t know it at the time. 

So why was Roman here... and not there?

“That’s just it!” Roman cried, arms lifting to wave in the air, his distress a heavy scent hanging over them both.

Now that Remy wasn’t thinking with his heart, he could see the terror writ large on Roman’s face, the panic every heavy breath brought him. Roman’s eyes were glowing gold. His wolf pressing up against him, itching to break free and Remy really didn’t like where his thoughts were taking him. Sure, it was the full moon and everyone was a little on edge as he always knew, but Roman looked two seconds away from a full transformation in the middle of the village. 

Usually they would transform together, find a moon partner and cuddle. Roman had been planning to do that with Patton after Remy had announced his plans to spend the night with Virgil. If there was anywhere else that his friend was meant to be, it was with the father figure of the group, not accosting Remy out in the open. And Roman was still here instead of with Virgil. 

“Virgil transformed and... he escaped.” 

It felt as though all the air had been knocked out of Remy, Roman’s words sending him reeling backwards, a physical staggering step away from him. He must have misheard. Surely... surely he mishead and Roman hadn’t just said what he thought he had just said. 

“What did you say?”

Roman swallowed heavily, not even bothering to hide the fear in his eyes, or the way his hair was lengthening, the wolf in him breaking free. 

“He’s in wolf form Remy, out of control. And loose in the woods.”


End file.
